Reese flipped open the phone and pressed Send.
Beep-beep. “Yo, dog,” came a whispered response.
Beep-beep. “Did you find it?”
Beep-beep. “I’m in the backyard right now; that’s why I’m whisperin’.”
Beep-beep. “You think he’s got a woman there?”
Beep-beep. “Oh, yeah.”
Beep-beep. “Good. Take her…or them…to Johnny Lee’s trailer.”
Beep-beep. “You got it.”
Beep-beep. “Let me know.”
Reese continued down the road watching the tire tracks. This guy’s all over the place. He’s outta control. Reese remembered the scoped Browning 30-06 behind the seat. All I gotta do is just see this guy once. I can kill him from three hundred yards or…Reese really wanted to see fear in his eyes and watch him suffer. “I’ll kill the kid first, then let the sumbitch know that I’ve got his old lady…maybe make him watch Moon Pie and the guys take turns with her,” Reese said aloud.
Yanking himself back into the present, Reese saw taillights through the woods. He slowed. As he approached the mud hole, he knew this was as far as he could go in Johnny Lee’s truck. Reese watched the killer’s truck disappear down the road, around a bend. He was gone before Reese could get the rifle pointed out the window. That was fine with Reese. He savored a good stalk hunt.
Putting the truck in park, Reese grabbed the radiophone, a flashlight, and the rifle. He calmly checked for his pistol, stepped out, and shut the truck door. Reese knew this property from years of poaching. He would simply cut off his prey’s escape route.
“See if you can find me a headache powder in that nasty vehicle of yours,” Ollie directed R.C.
Ollie was having a hard time making up his mind. He was facing a major decision, similar to one a few years back. He really wished this were not happening. Especially not tonight. He was exhausted, and his head was killing him from drinking in the sun all day at the golf tournament. And his foursome had played awful in the scramble. By the eighth hole he’d had to borrow golf balls. Ollie only played twice a year, and it showed. He loved the game but preferred to watch the pros on television from the comfort of his couch.
A couple of years ago, one of Sumter County’s favorite sons had left home in the middle of the night to join the Professional Bull Riders’ circuit. He was only fifteen. He didn’t tell anyone of his plans. His family had reported him missing the next day and had put up such a fuss that Ollie called in the Alabama Bureau of Investigation, who called in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The agencies were convinced they had a kidnapping on their hands. Fox News sent a satellite truck. Ollie gave live television updates three times a day. Then, out of the blue, several days into the ordeal, his parents received a call from the Wadley Regional Medical Center Emergency Room in Texarkana, Texas, explaining that their son was being treated for a broken collarbone sustained at a local rodeo.
Ollie had been humiliated. He hadn’t forgotten that feeling. Folks kidded him that the young cowboy had ridden out of town on a horse while Ollie was busy looking for suspicious cars. The incident became known as the Sumter County Kidnapping and was a constant embarrassment to Ollie. Technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong. It could have happened to any sheriff, in any county. But Ollie performed in front of the cameras with the dramatic flair and fervor of a television evangelist. His peers always reminded him that if his law enforcement career ever dried up, he had a bright future selling kitchen knives on TV infomercials. In reality, Ollie was a great sheriff. He could think on his feet. Once, while on vacation, he had subdued a criminal with nothing more than an emergency defibrillator. Every time the thief made a move to escape, Ollie shocked him. The criminal finally begged for forgiveness and just lay there whimpering until the local cops arrived.
“Sure, Chief, I think I have a BC Powder,” R.C. replied as he studied the girly calendars the way an art student studies Monet in the National Gallery. “I’ll go get it for you.”
R.C. exacerbated Ollie’s headache, but he was a smart cop when he got the scent of something. The fact that R.C. hadn’t yet gotten keyed up about this situation served to assuage Ollie’s concerns.
“Mick, I’m thinking that we wait until morning-at a decent hour-to check on this Jake character. To be honest, I just ain’t got enough to go on,” he said with a deep sigh, hoping Mick would understand. Ollie believed Mick about Jake. But he’d seen too many men drink too much and do crazy things when they were away from their wives. This was especially true for the guys who stayed cooped up in offices all the time. They were the worst.
Mick didn’t know what to think. He didn’t have any experience with anything like this, and found himself deferring to Ollie. Ollie’s the professional. He oughta know how to handle these things, Mick thought, trying to piece together Jake’s jumbled words from the barely audible call, but he couldn’t. This, combined with his fatigue, left him at a loss.
“Here you go, Chief,” R.C said, handing him a BC packet and placing his hands on his hips.
Ollie didn’t even glare at R.C. this time. He was simply too tired.
“You think these guys would mind if we had a Coke?” R.C. asked Mick as he looked in the refrigerator.
“I doubt it,” Mick responded, adjusting the cap on his head.
“Chief, I could ride the perimeter roads to see if anything looks suspicious. I don’t have anything else to do,” R.C. said as he handed Ollie a drink to wash down the powder. “It’s way too wet to try the interior roads in my patrol car.”
Ollie looked at his watch. It was almost two a.m. What in the world am I doing up at this hour? I’m dying, and R.C.’s as ready to go as a puppy with two peckers. Ollie appreciated his enthusiasm. He watched R.C. take a purple pill out of his pocket and wash it down with a swig of Coke.
“I had some pickled quail eggs for supper and they’re killin’ me. Serious heartburn,” R.C. said in response to Ollie’s inquisitive glance.
Ollie thought hard. “No. I think we’ll wait till daylight. We can’t see anything in the dark. String some tape around what blood you can see. In fact, string it across the driveway. We’ll look around this whole place later, when it’s daylight.
“Mick, why don’t you go get some sleep? I’ll let you know if we find anything. First thing-about eight o’clock-I’ll call the West Point police and have them ride out to this guy’s house. With any luck we’ll find out the ‘emergency’ was that he’d run out of money in a poker game and needed a loan. Yep, I bet we find out he was gettin’ killed in a serious game of Texas Hold’em.”
“All right…please let me know,” Mick said, trusting the sheriff. There were a few honky-tonks in the county, so Mick decided he would swing by the one that was on his way home to see if Jake’s truck was there. I’m gonna be pissed if it is, Mick thought.
Mick got up slowly and started out of the lodge. He stood in the door to listen and think. He could hear a whippoorwill off in the distance and nothing else. Turning around, Mick said, “I’m sure you’re right, Ollie…I just wish I could have heard him clearly.”
“I understand. Let us handle it…I promise I’ll keep you informed,” Ollie answered.
“See ya, Mick,” R.C. chimed in.
As soon as they heard Mick’s truck crank, Ollie stood, stretched, and said, “I’m goin’ home. I need some sleep, and you should do the same. I’ll make some calls in the morning. Why don’t you hang close to your house in case I need you?”