The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

Deputy Larry Skinner was across town having his last beer at the Hitbox. It was the only place in town that stayed open this late and served beer, so when closing time came, every drunk in town had to go home.

Larry Skinner wasn’t an alcoholic, but he did like to drink. He liked the way it made him feel, and he wasn’t about to give that up, even though Captain Jones had warned him against coming to work hung-over.

“Hell, Greg”, he had said to his friend and boss, “I’m just a part-time deputy, but I am a full-time drunk.”

His captain’s advice was to come to work sober, and save the booze for down time. It was the end of a very nice couple of days of down time, although he had to pretend he hadn’t been drinking when the money was counted and stored in the safe earlier that day. He had only had a six-pack by then anyway. Captain Jones had noticed, but had decided not to say anything. Larry had been sober enough that afternoon to count money. But now, he was in the midst of being fully drunk and out of pain.

Larry even drove home when he was drunk, since he knew there was only one other person in town who could arrest him, and if Captain Jones threw him in the jail, there would be one less deputy in town. Then the good Captain would have to do more work, and in the logic of the fuzzy drunken brain, that was practically a “Do Not Go To Jail” card.

True, Larry had damaged three cars last month as he weaved home, but had paid for the repairs out of his own pocket to keep his insurance company from knowing. He actually was close to having to buy very expensive insurance for the privilege of driving. So tonight, he was driving extra careful, which meant extra slow.

The problem with living with only 200 neighbors is that everyone knows your business. The great advantage though, is that everyone tolerates your faults, because you have to tolerate theirs. Drivers who saw Larry coming down the street knew enough to pull very wide of his car, or to turn and take the next street.

Larry’s garbage can didn’t know the protocol. As he ran right over the top of it and drug it up his driveway, the neighbors knew that Larry was home again after a late night at the Hitbox bar, and that he would be buying yet another garbage can.

Inside the house, the screeching metal on metal on concrete made Ray jump straight up, and he instantly pulled his “automotive tool” from his pocket, trying to protect himself from the screeching attacker. He calmed down enough to realize the noise was coming from outside, but that the car’s occupant was heading for the front door.

Ray quickly stepped to the front door and hid to one side. He would only have one chance to do this right. As the door opened and then closed, Ray grabbed Larry as he stumbled across the room. The sharp point was help right under Larry chin, and Ray knew enough to push a bit to make the right impression.

“Don’t say anything or I’ll kill you now,” Ray whispered loudly. “All I want is your key to the station safe.”

All of this had happened way too fast for Larry to understand what was wanted, especially in his drunken state. First he slurred out, “What? What are you doing in my house?”

Still holding Larry from behind, Ray got just enough of a whiff of the alcohol to understand he would have to go slow. “Give me your key to the safe.”

“What?” Larry was slurring most of his words, but Ray had known enough drunks to understand the lingo. “You can’t get into the safe with just my key.”

Ray jabbed Larry with the sharp end a bit to help him focus. “I know that. But I want your key, or I’ll kill you right here and now.”

Larry become much more focused, and realizing the guy was serious, he reached into his pocket and held up the set of keys. He was having a hard time balancing, and had begun shaking a bit, too.

“Which one?”

Larry held up the slender key, which was longer than the rest.

“Good job, deputy Fife. Do you have your one bullet ready?” said Ray, smiling to himself at the small town reference. Larry started to relax a bit, since the guy had what he wanted. It was the last thing Larry would do.

Ray pushed Larry in front of him enough to stab him from the back, in the brain stem, just as he had with Mike Shepherd. Larry fell to the floor even faster.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take your car, too,” said Ray, wiping the blood off the silver stem on Larry’s pant leg.

Greg delivered Paula to her motel doorstep and was rewarded with a large sloppy kiss and little bit of mutual groping. They had worked through the crisis, and seemed to be back on track.

“You need to go. Now,” Paula pushed him away and almost closed the door. “Be here at 7:00 a.m. and we’ll go get breakfast.” The door closed as Greg stepped in closer. She really knew how to work him.

But that was okay, too. There was always morning, which it already was, but after a cold shower and few hours of sleep, Greg would be right back here. And the dance would continue.

Two in the morning, and he felt great. Not tired, not exactly fresh as the morning sunshine, but even Greg realized something in his life had just changed. He had a girlfriend, and it looked like she wanted it to be permanent. Damn. How had that all happened? Two years of waiting? She really had been patient. Now he would have to be.

Getting home was quick since Ridgeway was so small, really only a couple of square miles of houses, and that made what he saw next even more out of place. Larry’s car was parked in front of his house.

“Damn drunk. Can’t even make it to his own house three blocks away.” Greg turned off the car and looked into Larry’s car. No one was passed out on the front or back seat, so Greg thought Larry must have made it inside to the couch.

Greg often left his house unlocked, more from a feeling of security of small towns than from a need to lock his house as an example to the rest of the town. Larry had learned to appreciate the gesture when his driving abilities wouldn’t work for even the few blocks he had to travel. He was usually just inside the door on the couch with his boots still on.

But tonight there was no one on the couch, and Greg thought he heard movement further back in the house just as he came in. His hand automatically went to his gun, and for the first time in a week, he wasn’t worried about the holster rubbing against his hip. He dropped back along the outside wall of the living room and crept up to the kitchen entryway. It was just an entry without a door, so he could hear someone’s footfall in the back of the house. As he stood quietly, the noise stopped.

Captain Greg Jones slid around the edge of the doorway into the kitchen and swept his gun from one end to the other. There was no one in here, but he thought to himself whoever was in his house was in his back bedroom. He would have to go through the den to get there, and there were three doorways in between. He also frowned to think someone from town would even want to steal something from his house, and how embarrassing it would be to have to admit he hadn’t locked the doors. What kind of a police captain had crime happen in his own house? But it was probably just Larry.

Then Greg heard another shuffling noise from the rear of the house. It was the bedroom, and slowly crossing the kitchen, Greg eased around the corner and looked briefly into the bathroom. It was clear.``

Time to check out the den. Stepping into the room slowly, he waved his gun again from one side of the room to the other, and curled around the doorway after seeing no one was there either. The next doorway was the bedroom.

While he imagined he was walking quietly, Raymond Johnson had heard the captain working his way through the house. Unfortunately, the bedroom had only one door, and Ray imagined correctly that momentarily a gun would be sliding around the corner of the door. He positioned himself low on the floor for a surprise attack.

Just as Greg Jones whipped his gun into the bedroom at chest height, Raymond Jones jumped up from the floor and pushed Greg back into the hallway, where he landed on his back with Ray straddling him. A gun was immediately pointed at his face.

“Hey, captain,” smiled Ray. “Recognize the gun?”

Greg shook his head “yes” very slowly. Larry’s gun wasn’t hard to identify. Greg didn’t recognize the face and realized that big city crime had once again invaded the peaceful town he was charged to protect.

“Your deputy won’t be needing this anymore,” said Ray”, and as much as I would love to shoot you right now, Officer Greg Jones at 320 Sycamore, that would make too much noise in this quiet little town, now wouldn’t it?”

Greg didn’t bother to nod. He was looking down the barrel of the gun, and could see the other bullets in the chambers of the six-gun that Larry had preferred.

“What I want from you, Captain Jones,” said Ray standing and backing up slowly, “is your key to the safe at the station house.” Ray was standing over Greg’s gun, which had been knocked from his hands when he was tackled.

“But there isn’t anything there worth doing this for…” Greg’s words trailed off as he remembered the pile of “cash” they had counted that afternoon. Smitty and Greg hadn’t planned on this kind of quick result. Ray wasn’t interested in protestations, and cocked the gun back.

“You can just hand it to me now, or I can search you for it after you’re dead.”

Greg reached to the side of his belt for his group of keys. He held the longest key out and handed the key ring to Ray. “That’s a good cop. A smart cop.”

Greg started to sit up. “Now you’re not being so smart,” Ray warned, and Greg froze halfway sitting up. But it did give him the angle he needed to push his arms against the wall and swing his legs across Ray’s legs. But Ray was ready, and the gun exploded in the small hallway as they both filled the space with too many arms and legs. Greg winced as the bullet shot through his left shoulder and into the floor behind him. The searing pain just made him mad, and as he crawled across the floor on his knees, Ray recognized the anger and irritation. He jumped to his feet and kicked Greg in the face and ran out the front door.

Greg Jones fell straight backwards onto the hallway floor. He didn’t move for fifteen minutes.

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