Bigfoot Crank Stomp (3 page)

The TV cut-off and silence once again enveloped him. A few seconds passed before Mickey yelled, “Russell, get your ass in here!”

Russell rubbed his mouth and jogged to the front, climbed a couple of concrete steps and entered, passing the kicked-in door. The first thing that hit him was the smell of spent gunpowder. Then the scent of blood and feces and spoiled food. He gagged and moved forward.

MANNY

Manny adjusted the elevation of his scope, accounting for the forty foot drop from his back deck into the valley below. He lined up the buck’s head in the crosshairs. He didn’t give a shit about damaging the rack. It was about the kill, not a trophy.

The wind gusted for a moment. Six knots from the west. He paused and adjusted his elbows, steadying the rifle on the bottom horizontal rail.

The wind died. Manny lined up the buck’s head again. The moon shimmered in the glass-like surface of its right eye. It blinked and cocked its head toward Manny, the tips of its mighty antlers pointing at his face.

No way
, he thought.

It looked right up the scope into Manny’s soul. At least, it felt that way. There was wisdom in those eyes. Years of surviving the woods and its predators. Being the fastest. The strongest. None of that mattered, though. It never did in the end when someone had you in the crosshairs. What mattered then was the mercy of the shooter. A simple choice. Because bullets don’t discriminate. They don’t judge.

They equalize
, Manny thought.

He eased off the trigger. Before he lowered the scope, the buck blinked and darted off into the woods.

“See you around.”

Manny pushed up to his knees and then feet, joints cracking the whole way. Across the small valley, someone’s television blasted
Seinfeld
. Probably those meth heads. They blast whatever’s on all day and most of the night. At least they changed the channel from
Animal Planet
.

The noise wasn’t a big deal to Manny. Nor the drugs he knew they were cooking. They didn’t mess with him and he didn’t mess them. If they wanted to cook meth and get high, more power to them. If they wanted to sell it, whatever. As long as they left him alone, he’d keep feeling that way.

Seinfeld
ended and the valley was filled with silence again. Manny turned toward the sliding glass door, ready for a Rusty Nail and a microwave burrito, when a nine millimeter discharged. A distinctive little pop he’d heard many times in the past. He turned and lowered to one knee and tucked the rifled stock into his shoulder, barrel elevated five inches above the deck.

The theme song for
Friends
kicked on. Then a shotgun blast. Harder to hear over the music but still distinctive and much louder than the nine mil.

Manny started to reach into his pocket for his cell phone but paused. It was probably a shootout over drugs. No reason to interfere if they were going to wipe each other out. Plus he hated the Sheriff. A real asshole, that one. Not many people lived on the Loop. A few loners like him. Cookers. The rest of the places were empty until tourists flocked in for ski season and late-spring vacations. Some people free-camped down in the valley below, too. Not many in either case but enough to pique his concern for safety.

Another shotgun blast. Then another followed by a couple of pops. It was hard to discern live fire from echoes with all the damn singing.

Manny grabbed his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

“9-1-1, what’s the emergency?” A woman’s voice.

“Shots fired off Fool’s Gold Loop. Near mile marker Four.”

“Gunshots?”

Manny gritted his teeth. “Yes. Two types of guns. One nine millimeter handgun and at least one shotgun. Sounds like a twelve gauge. My bet is you have a shootout taking place.”

“Can I get your name, Sir?”

Manny hung up.

The music cut-off.

Should go inside
, Manny thought but didn’t move. Instead, he remained in the kneeling position, rifle ready, listening.

GABE

Sheriff Gabe Clemons sighed as Tawny bobbed up and down on his cock. Or was it Tonya. Fuck it, it didn’t matter.

He leaned back in his desk chair and gripped the arms tight. He clenched his ass cheeks and drove his dick up as she came down. The head hit the back of her throat but she didn’t gag. No not Tawny. Tawny was a pro.

Literally.

Stanger brought her in two hours earlier. Busted her in the alley behind the 76 taking it up the ass from a trucker. He cuffed her for prostitution but let the trucker go. Had to be in San Diego by morning with a full load and Gabe didn’t like interrupting commerce.

As for the hooker, well, Stanger knew Gabe had a soft spot for pros. Like any good deputy, he sought to keep the sheriff happy. If the boss is happy, everyone’s happy. Gabe had trained him well.

“Faster.” Gabe clenched a hand full of her oily black hair and push-lifted until she reached the desired speed. He straightened his legs and arched his back. The next time she came down, he held her head there, even pushed it down more. He felt the tightness of her throat on the head. Then he shot. “Ahhh.”

Tawny being the pro she was, let it flow and swallowed everything he gave her. After a few more seconds, Gabe released his death grip on her hair and allowed her to extract him from her mouth. She rocked back, still on her knees, and wiped slobber from her chin.

“That was mighty fine.” Gabe pushed up from his leather chair and hiked his pants up. “Mighty fine indeed.”

“So no jail time, right?” Tawny had the voice of a crippled mouse; squeaky and broken.

Gabe nodded and buckled his belt. He turned and lifted the towel he’d been sitting on from the chair and tossed it in the corner next to his coat rack. It joined three or four others.

“Yep, you earned your get out of jail card.” Gabe extended his hand and helped her to her feet. Tawny straightened her tight little mini skirt and ran her hands through her hair. She wasn’t a bad looking hooker. A little rough on the eyes. Crow’s feet. Worn lips. A second chin starting to dangle. But the tits were nice and fake and the ass round and firm. Not bad at all. “Feel free to come see me anytime.”

Tawny chuckled. “Looking for a kickback?”

“A kickback implies you’ll get to keep doing what you do for money.”

Tawny’s smile faded. “What the hell are you saying?”

“Stanger,” Gabe said, looking past Tawny to the door.

A moment later, it opened and his fat young deputy stepped through. “Yes, Sheriff?”

“Hundred dollar fine for Miss Tawny here.”

“You got it.”

“Hundred dollars?” Tawny’s broken mouse squeak of a voice shot up an octave or two. “You said I earned my get out of jail free card.”

“I said you earned your get out of jail card. Rather than a night in jail and a date with the judge, I’ve reduced your penalty to a fine and a blowjob. Pay it and you’re free to go.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I can make it two hundred dollars.” Gabe stepped close and leaned into her ear. “And Stanger will get to fuck you for free.”

Tawny shook her head but said nothing.

“You don’t fuck for money anymore in my town. Got that? You turn tricks, do it somewhere else.”

“What’d I do?”

“I just said you got caught fucking for money in my town. I’m pretty fair when it comes down to it. You break the law and don’t get caught, well, there’s not much I can do about that. But when you’re dumb enough to end up in the back of one of my cruisers, I’ve got to put you out of business. That’s why the good citizens of Tallwood voted for me. Now pay the fine and get the fuck out of here.”

Stanger took Tawny by the arm and walked her out the door. As she left, Gabe noticed her shoulders hitch up and down and heard the first few soft cries. Then she was down the hall and out of eye and ear shot.

Gabe smiled and swaggered over to the other side of the office. He fired up the Bose Wave CD player he’d bought on eBay and slid in the Misfits
Earth A.D.
A couple of clicks and
Green Hell
roared over the speakers. Gabe went into full air guitar mode, head banging and screaming Glenn Danzig’s lyrics at the top of his lungs.

Half-way through the song, Gabe quit singing and started howling like a wolf at the moon. He was on his third howl when a hand tapped his shoulder. Gabe spun and fired a left jab, hitting Stanger in the forehead. His right hand had his sidearm drawn and leveled at his deputy a second later.

Stanger threw up his hands and said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Gabe’s jaw tightened. He reached behind him and switch off the gnashing punk rock. “Damn it, I told you not to sneak up on me when I’m in my zone.”

“Shit, sorry, Sheriff.” Stanger rubbed his forehead. “Just wanted to let you know she paid the freight. I told Lyle to take her out to the town line.”

Gabe nodded. “How’s the head?”

Stanger quit rubbing. “Hurts like a bitch.”

“Ah, it can’t be that bad.” Gabe chuckled and holstered his sidearm and removed his gun belt and hung it on the coat rack and moved back around his desk and sat down. “Bet my hand hurts more. You’ve got one fucking solid melon.”

Stanger chuckled albeit weakly.

Gabe motioned at the chair across from him. “Have a seat.”

Stanger did. Gabe opened the top right drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of Wild Turkey. He set two highball glasses next to it. He poured two fingers worth in each and pushed one across to his deputy.

“Drink up.” Gabe reclined back and sipped his. “You did good work tonight.”

Stanger sighed, his jowls jiggling. “Wasn’t exactly hard.” He drank half the glass. “No pun intended.”

“Well, you landed the town another hundred dollars and put a whore out of business. Not too bad in my book.”

Stanger shrugged and polished off the Turkey. Gabe offered him the bottle. He took it and refilled his glass.

“Something bothering you, Stanger?”

“Nah.”

Gabe smirked. “You don’t like that I used the whore and then kicked her out, do you?”

“Nailing some whore don’t bother me none—”

“But taking her money and forcing her out of town does.”

“Just seems like we’re taking the court out of the process is all. We’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

Gabe nodded and refilled his glass. “You’re right. I am taking the court out of the process. Where I can. Do you know why?”

“Make it easier. Get it over and done with.”

“You could say that. Here’s something else, though. How much tax payer money would have been spent on Miss Tawny if we were to book her and await the judge? It’d take a couple of days to get to the courthouse based on the schedule. You know she’d have to have a court appointed attorney. More tax payer money down the drain. And let’s not forget meals, toiletries, and the cost in man-hours to ensure a guard was here twenty-four, seven.”

Stanger took a sip. “I see your point.”

“We made a hundred dollar profit, minus the money on gas you spent to bring her here and for Lyle to take her out past the town line. It only took a couple of man-hours. Most importantly, we won’t have a repeat offender on our hands, sucking even more tax payer money down the jizz hole. Pun intended.”

Stanger laughed. “Was it good?”

“Better than my cold right hand.”

They both laughed and refilled their glasses. About a quarter remained in the bottle now. Gabe rubbed his eyes, ready to call it a night soon. He sipped and rested the glass on his stomach.

“You think she’ll stay out of Tallwood?” Stanger said.

“If she’s got half a brain she will. Not that I’ve got anything against a woman making money with her snatch. I mean there’s nothing wrong at all with a nice little private operation. If she had a house and set it up where she had personal clients, no problem. Hell I’d probably be her Wednesday night regular. But fucking truckers for ten bucks at
Lou’s Stop and Pump
or behind the 76 isn’t the way to conduct business. She steps foot in Tallwood again, I’ll take more than a hundred out of her ass.”

“Why don’t we go round up the meth cookers and show them the polite door as well?”

“Got to catch them first.”

“Shit, we know where they are.” Stanger leaned forward. “I can point out two trailers and four cabins in this town where meth is being cooked or bagged for distribution.”

“I hear you.” Gabe set the empty glass down and rested his elbows on the desk. “But we’re not vigilantes. We catch a hooker fucking in a parking lot, we take care of it our way. But we catch her in the act first. We catch a dealer slinging or some dickwad cooking, we take care of it our way. We don’t knock doors down on hunches or what some angry neighbor says.”

Stanger finished off his Turkey and belched. “Like we took care of that little shit Wheezy.”