Red Dog Saloon (8 page)

Studying
the inmate, Sam was sure he was hiding something and he also suspected a little
prodding might cause the hardened criminal to bare his soul, especially if the
price was right.

“Oh
well, that’s too bad,” Sam said as he stood up motioning to the guard who was
outside the interview room. “I’d hoped we could help each other out. You know,
I scratch your back and you scratch mine, but if you don’t know then you don’t
know.”

Sam
walked over to talk to his investigator while giving Rhody a wave, instructing
the jailer to take him back to his cell.

“Have
a good life Rhody,” Sam called out. “Drop us a letter sometime and let us know
how you’re doing in the federal pen.”

Rhody
stared down the lawman as he was led toward the door, confused by the sheriff’s
abrupt abandonment of the line of questioning.

“Wait!”
Rhody said in a loud voice. “What if, let’s say, I did remember something from
back in the day. What would that get me?”

The
sheriff had a bite on his lure.

“But
you just said you didn’t know anything,” Sam countered. “Now do you or don’t
you? I ain’t got time to be jerked around. Once the marshals come to get you
it’s out of my hands.”

Rhody
shook off the jailer’s grasp, his look contrite, and his body language telling
Sam he may be willing to deal.

“Let’s
say I can help you out with your little problem,” Rhody began. “What kind of
deal are we talking about?”

A
smile crossed sheriff’s face as he motioned for Rhody to take his seat again.
He had set the hook.

“What
if I could keep your case here?” Sam offered. “I mean that’s still a couple or
three years in the state pen but that’s a lot shorter than what you’re looking
at in federal court. That’s time you could literally do standing on your head.”

Rhody
shot the sheriff a serious look as he leaned forward.

“What
about immunity?” Rhody asked. “I don’t want to pick up a new charge by
cooperating.”

“I’m
not asking you to testify,” Sam declared. “I just want to know what happened
back then. Who knows, it may even save your life since from what I understand
you were just as much a part of it as your old crew.”

The
sheriff’s statement threw Rhody off his game given the lawman’s apparent
insight.

“I’ve
got to have immunity and I’ve got to have it in writing,” Rhody demanded. “You
give me that and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

The
sheriff questioned his continued insistence not understanding his demand for
immunity since Rhody was obviously versed in the law.

“You
do realize the statute of limitations has run on what happened,” Sam revealed.
“I don’t think immunity will be needed.”

Rhody
disagreed as he gave the sheriff a serious look.

“Oh
for what I’m going to tell you I will need immunity,” Rhody declared. “There’s
no statute of limitations for what I know.”

Rhody’s
statement surprised the sheriff who thought he was ready for all scenarios.
Were they talking about the same thing? As a jailhouse lawyer, Rhody should
know the statute of limitations for rape was twenty years in their state.

“What
are we talking about here?” Sam asked.

“When
I have it writing sheriff,” Rhody replied. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,
it’s just that a man has to protect his best interests.”

Rhody
held up his cuffed hands, motioning to the officer to take him back to his
cell.

“I
say James, once around the park and then home,” Rhody said with a bad English
accent as he stood up signifying the end of the interview.

“I’ve
got to make a few calls so sit tight and we’ll be talking again soon,” Sam
promised.

“You
know where to find me,” Rhody countered as he was led out the door.

Sam
was excited for the first time in quite a while realizing they might be able to
solve the case before the body count climbed any higher.

Getting
a deal for a drug trafficker in exchange for information which could end a
string of ghastly murders should not be a problem. Sam immediately placed
a call to Easton Police Chief Denton Wood.

Sam
and the city’s chief of police had always been on good terms, their officers
working in partnership on many cases over the years.

Sam’s
call to Chief Wood was prompted by the fact Rhody’s case was a city case made
by Easton’s narcotics squad in cooperation with the DEA. Rhody was one of
seventeen suspects rounded up last month following a year-long undercover sting
aimed at taking a bite out of the meth business in Easton. The leaders of the
meth operation, the cookers and main traffickers, were going to be taken by
federal authorities for prosecution. Meanwhile the Smurfs, a term law
enforcement often used for those who helped supply the ingredients for the
meth, would be tried locally and face much shorter sentences. Rhody was one of
the ringleaders, a cooker and a trafficker, and therefore was set for federal
court. His only possible redemption was that he had not yet been indicted by a
federal grand jury meaning his case could be kept locally so long as the chief
went along with the plan.

But
why wouldn’t he? It would be like letting a nickel hold up a dollar, not
jumping at the deal that could help catch a murderer. Trading a drug dealer for
a killer would be a no-brainer. At least that’s what Sam thought.

“I
can’t make that call,” Chief Wood declared during his phone conversation with
the sheriff. “I understand your situation and it shouldn’t be a big deal but I
have to consult with the mayor first.”

“The
mayor?” Sam asked with surprise in his voice. “Since when does he run the
police department in Easton?”

Sighing
on the phone, annoyed he was trapped between a rock and a hard place, Denton
explained, almost embarrassed by his awkward situation.

“This
meth round-up made the state headlines so it’s a feather in his cap and this is
an election year in the city and he’s hanging his hat on the crackdown. You
know, safer streets, nice place to raise the family-type thing,” the chief
explained. “Before I start dropping charges against one of the main movers and
shakers in the meth business I need to consult just to cover my back side.”

“How
long is this backside-covering going to take?” Sam replied.

The
sheriff was annoyed that he was being held up by the minor issue. Never in a
million years would he have thought there would be an issue in getting
cooperation from his law enforcement partners.

“We
have a killer running around in case you haven’t noticed,” Sam noted.

“Can
you give me until tomorrow?” the chief responded. “Like I said it shouldn’t be
any problem, I just want to make sure. After all, he signs my checks and I’d
kind of like to keep my job. You know how paranoid folks get during election
and this could be a close one.”

While
understanding the chief’s situation, Sam still wasn’t happy.

“Oh
but wait, some of you don’t even get contested anymore,” the chief quipped
about Sam’s winning reelection without opposition. “That must be nice not
having to answer to anybody.”

“It
does save a couple of bucks,” Sam agreed. “Call me as soon as you find out
because I’ve still got to work it out with the Feds before I can put it in
writing.”

“As
soon as it’s all clear I’ll let you know,” the chief promised as they hung up.

Sitting
back in his chair, Sam looked out the window as the sun started to get low in
the sky. Hopefully, his deal would come in time. Could Castle County go a night
without another murder? Only time would tell.

Stevie’s
nerves were on edge all afternoon after his talk with the sheriff. His mind was
going a thousand miles per hour after his talk with the sheriff. His feeling of
dread grew as he saw the relative safety of the sun disappear over the horizon
leaving darkness to envelope his refuge.

The
family man jumped at the sound of every noise outside the house, every settling
of their home causing him to cower in fear wondering if the mysterious killer
was coming for him. Try as he might, he couldn’t hide his deep-seated terror of
the unknown. His face was telling on him.

“You’re
jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers tonight,” his wife
declared. “How much coffee did you drink today?”

Stevie
didn’t need any coffee to be hyper alert. Fear alone was keeping him vigilant.
His wife, eyeing him over the cover of the paperback she was reading in the
living room, made him realize his paranoia was apparent. He didn’t want her to
catch the scent that something was wrong.

“Yeah,
that’s it,” Stevie agreed. “I must have had one too many I guess.”

“I
told you to go to decaf,” she said plainly, his domineering mate always having
the answers for everything. “You’ll live a lot longer without all that caffeine
in your system.”

“Live
longer, yeah right,” Stevie muttered under his breath.

With
the setting sun, Stevie's life expectancy came into question. He had never been
scared of the dark before. Things had changed.

“What’d
you say?” his wife asked as she looked over her bifocals at her jumpy husband.

“Oh
nothing dear,” Stevie innocently responded.

Given
the fact he and his wife had two children, she had always forbade Stevie from
buying a gun for home protection fearing an accident would happen. In the end,
she wore the pants in the family so her word was law. Instead of a trusty
firearm, they relied on Easton’s finest that patrolled their section of the
small city. After all, police response times are always quicker in the nicer
parts of town and Stevie lived in one of the better neighborhoods.

Stevie
played his conversation with the sheriff over and over in his head like it was
on a loop. He realized Sam saw through his thinly-veiled lie given the fact he
had never been much of a liar. He wasn’t even a good poker player. His tells
gave him away anytime he tried to bluff. Instead, Stevie protected his secrets
by simply remaining quiet. The way he figured it, if he kept his mouth
shut and stayed under the radar he wouldn’t have to lie. His distortion of the
truth during his conversation with the sheriff weighed on his conscience. How
he wished he could come clean and bare his soul but he realized that wasn't
possible.

Between
his conscience and sense of dread, Stevie found his imagination running away
with him. Giving in to his paranoia, he worked his way around the house. He
looked out the windows and turned on every light, exterior and
interior, for which there was a switch, knob or toggle. By the end of his
mission lights bathed every inch of the grounds outside their two-story
dwelling. If someone or something was coming to get him, Stevie wanted to see
it coming.

He
paced around the house like a sentry, walking his post as he made sure the
deadbolts were secure and the alarm activated. He figured to kill him the
killer would have to get inside. In the back of his mind he convinced himself
if he could survive the night and break the string of homicides he would be
clear, that is unless the killer picked one of the others from his old gang
that evening. Regardless, he wanted to live through the night at a minimum.
Perhaps he would revisit seeking the sheriff’s help – tomorrow.

Along
with his fear, Stevie had a feeling of frustration. After all, it had been more
than twenty years since the incident for which he was sure retribution was
being sought. Was there no such thing as redemption for one’s actions,
especially actions committed in the foolishness of one’s youth? Stevie had
changed, becoming a good citizen and family man. He had turned his life around
and become a different person than he was back during the Red Dog days. He was
even born again for crying out loud, baptized by submersion at the Baptist
church where his family was regular attenders and tithes payers.

Why
did he have to suffer along with those who were unrepentant for their actions?
It just wasn’t fair in Stevie’s book. Unlike the others in the old group,
Stevie had felt regret, the weight of their sin wearing on him for many years.
It had been only in the past few years, with the birth of his children, that he
no longer felt haunted by his past. Now the ghosts had returned with a vengeance.

He
knew it would be a sleepless night. There was no way he could fall asleep given
the possibility something was out there waiting for him. Stevie decided he
would batten down the hatches and ride it out, locked away in his bunker. There
was nothing that would make him leave the safety of his fortress.

“Stevie
I need you to run to the store,” his wife yelled from the kitchen.

He
could scarcely believe his ears. Had she just asked him to go outside where the
killer was waiting on him? This couldn't be happening.

“What?”
Stevie called back feebly. “Can it wait until tomorrow honey? It’s already dark
out. I’ve got my shoes off already.”

“No.
I need it tonight,” she responded. “If it could wait until tomorrow I’d do it
myself. I need milk, eggs and some cake mix. We’re having a thing at work
tomorrow and I promised to take something homemade. You don’t want to make me
out a liar do you?”

The
store was located just a mile away but that was a mile too far since it took
him outside his castle. He racked his brain trying to come up with a valid
excuse to stay locked away inside his home.

However,
brainstorm as he would, Stevie was at a loss to come up with a reason not to
run the errand. After all, he couldn’t just up and tell his wife there was a
killer out there waiting to seek vengeance for something he did two decades
ago. If he did then he would then have to explain what happened. That explanation
would surely land him on the street and in divorce court. Stevie had to decide
which he feared worse, his wife or the killer who may be waiting for him in the
darkness.

“Yes
dear. I’m going. I’ll be back in a minute,” Stevie said with a defeated tone in
his voice.

A sick
feeling formed in the pit of his stomach as he reached for his coat. He could
almost feel the presence outside waiting for him.

Pausing
for a moment to peek through the front window, Stevie took a deep breath and
turned the deadbolt. Then, cautiously sticking his head out of the front door,
he scanned his well-lit lawn making sure no one was lurking in the hedges
before making a dash to his car parked in the drive. He pushed his fob to
unlock the doors while on the run.

He
wasted no time as he jumped into the driver’s seat, immediately locking the
doors behind him while still looking in all directions for any movement.

“Let’s
get this over with,” Stevie said to himself as he started his vehicle.

Stopping
at the edge of his drive, Stevie saw a car coming down the road. His paranoia
returned with the approaching vehicle. What if it was the killer? What would he
do? Stevie quickly generated a grandiose plan whereby he would race through his
front yard in the family minivan and lead the killer on a death-defying chase
through the streets of Easton.

His
contingency wouldn’t be needed as the oncoming vehicle came into focus. It was
a patrol car. Stevie took a relieved breath. Maybe the sheriff had ordered a
patrol of his neighborhood. Regardless, he was going to take advantage of the
cruiser and use it as an escort to the store.

He
quickly backed out of his drive and fell in behind the officer, following the
patrol car all the way to the store before reluctantly leaving his escort to
pull into the market parking lot.

“Halfway
home,” Stevie said to himself as he looked around to make sure no one was
milling around in the parking lot before climbing out of his vehicle and
briskly walking into the store.

He
wasted no time collecting the items he was sent to purchase. He
waited impatiently in line before checking out. Any other time a
visit to the store at that hour of night would be a quick in-and-out affair.
However, as luck would have it, everyone in line in front of him was apparently
buying enough groceries to last the rest of the year and paying for them using
coupons. Don’t people ever read the sign “twenty items or less”?

With
the groceries in hand, Stevie glanced at his surroundings and made a quick dash
back to his van. He tossed the bag into the passenger seat not caring if he
broke any eggs as he locked the doors and plugged his key into the ignition.

Nothing!
The engine wouldn’t turn over! His nightmare was now complete. He was a mile
away from home on a frigid night with the snow just beginning to fall and there
was a killer out there just waiting for him.

He
turned the key a few more times but realized the issue wasn’t going to fix
itself. What was the problem? Perhaps the cold night had drained his battery.
Sitting in his locked van for a minute, he considered his options. He couldn’t
hoof it home. That would leave him exposed with a killer on the loose. He
would take a look under the hood first. He was in a well-lit parking lot as he
took the precaution of parking right under a security light. If it were
something he could fix he would fix it and be on his way. If he couldn’t find
the problem, he would have no option but to call his wife and have a tow truck
pick up his van the next morning.

Repeating
his careful scan of his surroundings, Stevie unlocked his doors and climbed
out, reaching back inside to trigger his hood release. He spent another minute trying
to find the secondary trigger underneath the hood before finally locating the
lever.

The
challenge of determining what was wrong with his vehicle was one Stevie
accepted out of pride even given his fear that gripped him. Stevie was an
accomplished mechanic. One of his pastimes was restoring classic cars. He
prided himself on being quite the expert when it came to engines so having to
call a tow truck would be admitting defeat. That would be an insult to his
manhood as he saw it, or at least what was left of his manhood.

Poring
over the engine, he looked for the problem, blowing in his hands as the cold
quickly settled in his lungs thanks to the brisk wind. Then he found it, just a
couple of minutes into his diagnosis. Luck was with him. His battery cable was
loose.

He
pushed the connection back on the post and hand-tightened the nut, snugging it
up against the battery connection.

“That
should do it,” Stevie said to himself with a sense of accomplishment as he
slammed down his hood, again looking around the parking lot.

He
jumped back into his vehicle and wasted no time locking his doors and again
jammed the key into the ignition. It started! A sense of pride bubbled inside
him taking his mind off his fears for a moment. However, as the old adage says,
“pride goes before the fall”. He should have checked his back seat.