“OK. But if I see Billy Poteet I'm gonna shove his face down his throat.”
“Don't do that. Messes with the lineup. You are a professional law enforcement officer. Do your job. Stay cool. If you do see him, you call for backup pronto.”
“Well, all right, Chief. Where are you going?”
“Talk to Billy Poteet.”
As it happened he couldn't talk to Billy. Billy wasn't at the boatyard. He was out pulling up his crab traps before the storm. Troy gave that up for the moment and went back to the stationhouse. He felt tired. He was willing to bet that Billy felt the same.
Norris Compton woke up around ten in the morning and started yelling. Troy went back to the cells, read him his Miranda warning, and told him why he was where he was.
“But I didn't do anything wrong. A man's got a right to defend his home.”
“Norris, there never were any looters. And you shot off a revolver. At my officers. Damn relic, too. Where did you get it?”
“Oh, my head. It was my dad's. I only shot once, up at the sky. To scare off the looters.”
“That was a foolish thing to do. One of my officers came within a split-second of blowing your head off.”
“It was just a warning shot.”
“Well, I'll let you and a state attorney discuss that. I've got you in here for discharging a firearm inside town limits and for aggravated assault on a police officer. Do you have an attorney? Is there anyone you would like to call?”
Compton groaned and held his head again. “Mostly I'd like some aspirin and something to eat.”
“I can do that. Then one of us will let you use the shower. When you feel up to it give a shout and we'll lend you a phone to use.”
He drove over to the Osprey Yacht Club. Bubba had been and gone. Inside, the same girl sat at the same little desk with her hands folded. This time she didn't even smile, but at least she said nothing as Troy walked in and on through the inner door. Troy found Paul Ronson, the commodore, in the office with George Trapper, the manager. Neither man looked happy to see Troy.
“This has to stop,” Ronson said. “George tells me it was gang activity.”
Troy shook his head. “We don't have a
gang
in Mangrove Bayou. The only
gang
I know of who are breaking the law are the guys who play poker in your back room on Thursday nights.”
Ronson looked startled but recovered. Trapper looked amused. “Well, do you have any idea who committed that crime out front?” Ronson asked.
“Yes. I do.”
“Well, then,” Ronson said, “why aren't you out arresting him?”
“Need proof, not suspicion. Too bad you don't have a security camera.”
“If you know who it is, get on the job,” Ronson said. “That's why you were hired. If you can't do the job, I'll talk to Lester Groud and see if he can find someone who can.”
Troy nodded. “We have a person who spray-painted some graffiti on a wall. It happens to be your wall and you're right to be annoyed about it. But it can be removed. It's not the crime of the century. Meantime, there's a hurricane about to hit us and I need to organize for that and nobody is going to get any sleep when that thing is over us. I'm not forgetting or ignoring this, but there have to be priorities.”
“Yeah. Fine,” Ronson said. “One priority I have is that we're firing that bitch Wanda Frister. We don't need some druggie working for us who attracts this kind of illegal attention. Bad for the club image.”
“Why is she a bitch?”
“Well, she uses drugs. Her car tires the other night. I don't need the criminal element working for me.”
“I would point out that Wanda Frister isn't the criminal element here. She's the victim. Do you fire people for being victims of crime?” He looked at Trapper. “George, is that even legal?”
“I don't know,” Trapper said. “And I don't want to have to find out.”
“Smart,” Troy said. “My information is that Wanda Frister doesn't use drugs and she's not some âbitch.' George, has she been a good employee up to now?”
“She's fine,” the manager said. “Experienced. Popular. Reliable. Happy to come in whenever I need some extra help. Never a problem until this.”
“I don't give a damn,” Ronson said. “George can fire her.”
“Might be some legal issues with doing that,” George said.
“I have an idea,” Troy said. “I really like the club. The atmosphere. The people here. I am planning to eat in your dining room every night, from now to the heat-death of the universe. That will give me a chance to hobnob with the other members. You know, slap a back or two, shake the hands. Tell jokes. Ask the wait staff to bring me lots of fried chicken and watermelons. To prevent future outbreaks of crime I plan to have a patrol truck cruise by here twice every shift. They'll be checking license plates for expired stickers, of course, we always like to do that. I can do the same out on the boats. Why, there could be, you know,
unlawful substances
, on some of those boats. And we're going to find out.”
“You sound just like Les Groud,” Ronson said.
“Really? And here I thought I was being original.”
“You're not. And if the Frister woman goes on working here?” Ronson asked.
“Then I microwave my usual frozen dinners most nights. I reserve the one night per month and an occasional visit when I have someone to entertain.”
“Humpff. What do you think, George?”
“I think we don't need some kind of lawsuit for having fired a victim of a crime.”
“Very well. The woman can stay. But if this keeps up I may change my mind.”
“Don't worry,” Troy said. “We'll get the guy, sooner or later.”
Chapter 37
Tuesday, July 30
On Tuesday afternoon Mayor Lester Groud ordered the town evacuated ahead of the approaching storm. Donald was still a category one hurricane. In the meeting room on the second floor of the town hall, employees checked their emergency food, blankets and medical supplies. Any refugees could shelter on the floor there. Troy called in his troops for a meeting. He was in the break room giving out instructions when the siren on the roof went off.
“Jesus,” he said, sticking his fingers into his ears. “They going to blow that thing all day?”
There were a few laughs. June got up and left the room. “They do it for one minute,” Angel shouted. “Alerts everyone to check the town web site for news, or their smart phones for a text message.”
“Modern technology paired with old. I like it,” Troy shouted back. June came back with the Bad Word Jar and set it down in front of Troy. The siren stopped. “Some of you have families,” Troy said. “Feel free to bring them in here. If you need to go get them, do that. They can sleep in the cells. But I need all of you out there serving and protecting. Now, let's get out there, two to a truck. Lights on. Cruise the residential streets and use the loudspeakers to tell people to pack up and get out.” He took a dollar out of his wallet and pushed it into the jar. It was almost the end of the month and the jar was getting full.
“Most residents know the drill,” Juan Valdez said. “Some will go, some will stay, no matter how much we yell at them. A category-one storm, hard to get a lot of people to leave. A cat-three, about everyone goes. A cat-two, don't know.”
“Do the trailers over on Snake Key first,” Jeremiah Brown rumbled. They
got
to evacuate.” Along the coast of Florida all trailers, mobile and manufactured homes were automatically included in any county's Evacuation Zone A. The flood waters weren't the problem, but the wind. Lightly built of plywood and tin, even with tie-down straps, trailers were dangerous places to try to shelter in. After a good blow all that was left sometimes was the bottom metal frame, the wheels, and the tie-down straps.
“What about our prisoner?” June asked.
“I can't spare anyone to take him to Naples right now,” Troy said. “He stays where he is. And that means that, no matter what, one of us must always be in here too. We never leave an unattended prisoner who has no way to get out if there's a problem.”
“I can stay here,” June said.
“You're not an officer. I can't make you.”
“I know. What else are Bob and I supposed to do? Sit around the house listening to the roof come off? Here I can be useful. Him too.”
“Thanks, June. You're now the jail matron too, you and Bob. Now everyone, you're on payroll, June too. Private cars get per diem. The two not out in the Suburbans get out in your own cars or just walk. And check the motels. I want the tourists out of town, not drinking booze and partying.”
“A lot of them won't leave,” Tom VanDyke said. “They've never been in one of these and they're on vacation.”
Troy nodded. “I made up a form on the computer and ran off a couple hundred copies. Each of you take some of the forms. It's a release for them to sign if they wish to stay. They understand that we're not going to risk our lives to save theirs when they had the chance to leave. Ask them to put down the contact information of a next of kin for us to notify of their deaths. Tell them you are supposed to use a ball point pen to write their social security numbers on their foreheads so we can identify the bodies later. If they actually let you do that, make a note on the form.”
“Jesus,” Angel said. “Like Auschwitz.” June slid the jar over to Angel.
“I'm just trying to make them think and maybe scare them a little. If they don't buy the number thing, or refuse to fill in the form, let it go.”
“We give these forms to the residents? The townspeople?” Tom VanDyke asked.
Troy shook his head. “First, I'm hoping they're smarter about hurricanes, though that may or may not be entirely true. Second, they live here, so should something bad happen it's not that hard to know who they are. Third, I don't see the need to piss off the people who pay our salaries.”
Jeremiah reached for the jar and slid it down in front of Troy. “Oh, come on,” Troy said. “That's just a biological emission, not a real swear word.” Jeremiah just tapped the top of the jar and some kind of subterranean rumble came from the top of his thick neck. Troy got out another dollar. “OK. Everyone hit the streets. Milo and Bubba, I want you back here at six p.m. to get some rest so you can take over the night shift later. June, you and Jeremiah go upstairs to the meeting hall and steal a dozen blankets and anything else you think we will need to stay here overnight. Milo, you hang back, I want to talk to you. You and Jeremiah can take the second Suburban out in a half-hour.”
Each person had full foul-weather gearâyellow bib overalls and heavy yellow coat with hood and reflecting tape, and white rubber boots. Not fashionable, but practical. They struggled into those and put their duty belts on over the clothes. “We look like a Mrs. Gorton's Fish Sticks commercial,” Angel said. Soon, Milo and Troy were alone in the break room. One good note, Troy thought, was that Milo had put his squeaky shoes into his locker when he changed to the boots. Troy looked at Milo and said nothing. Milo fiddled nervously with the Bad Word Jar and said nothing. Troy just sat with his arms crossed and stared at Milo.
“What's up, Chief?” Milo asked after a few moments.
“What's with you and Wanda Frister?” Troy asked.
“Whattya mean?”
“As a general rule, trained law enforcement officers don't hold hands with crime victims. By the way, where
is
Wanda?”
“She's at her place. I punched out the door lock with a tire iron. I told her not to do anything with the A/C unit yet. If the storm blows her trailer away what would be the point of a new air conditioner?”
“That's actually good thinking. You sort of taking Wanda under your wing, are you?”
Milo looked up. “I guess you can say that. She's alone and scared of Billy Poteet and scared of her home being wrecked by the storm. Isn't there something we can do about Billy Poteet?”
“Did you check her trailer for any drugs?”
“Yes, I did, Chief. She has a few over-the-counter things, like for colds. That's all I found.”
“Did you look anywhere else but the medicine cabinet?”
“Yes I did. I looked everywhere. And it was goddamn embarrassing. Are you happy?”
“You bet. You did your job, embarrassing or not.” Troy put a dollar into the jar for Milo. “I got this one,” he said.
“Thanks. I still need to find Billy Poteet and beat the livingâ¦stuffing out of him.”
Troy smiled. “We will do something about Billy Poteet. But the main difference between us and him is civilization. He just acts on impulse and a vicious nature. We act within legal rules and we don't act on our emotions. We don't act on our emotions no matter how hard it is for us to not do that. It takes us longer but what we do sticks. Do you understand the difference?”