Bill Crider: Shotgun Saturday Night

“Not yet,” Hack said. “You goin’ to ask the judge to appoint one?”

“I think I’ll get her to call Painter,” Rhodes said. “He’s a good one, and he’ll take the case, I think.”

“Good idea,” Hack said. The expectant look was back on his face.

OK , Rhodes thought, I might as well dive in . “Any calls this morning?” he asked.

It was what they had been waiting for. “Two,” Lawton said happily. Hack was quiet, letting Lawton have the only line he was likely to get in the conversation.

“Ah,” Rhodes said, dragging it out to see if he could avoid having to ask who had called.

“One of ‘em was from Clyde Ballinger,” Lawton said.

Hack clamped his teeth together, but he managed not to say anything. He was giving Lawton a lot of rope today.

“Clyde Ballinger?” Rhodes was actually surprised, and the question popped out before he thought. “What did he want?”

“Seems like after you and Ivy left the buryin’ the other afternoon, one of his helpers slipped and turned his ankle while he was fillin’ in the grave,” Hack said. “He wants to know if the county is insured for that sort of thing.”

Rhodes had been holding his breath. Now he let it out in a lengthy sigh. “I was afraid he’d found out something about those arms and legs that would change things around,” he said. “You can tell him that the county isn’t liable if he calls again, but don’t bother to call him. That little job was purely private enterprise, even if he was doing me a favor.”

“That’s what I thought,” Hack said. “I’ll tell him. He said it reminded him of somethin’ out of a book, but I can’t recall what he said the name of it was.”

“Never mind,” Rhodes said. He looked at Hack. He knew they were saving the second call for the last because it was the best. It was always like that.

This time they out-waited him. “All right,” he said after a minute or two, “who was the other call from?”

“The preacher,” Lawton said.

There were more churches in Blacklin County than there were people, someone had once said. That made for a lot of preachers, too. “Which one?” Rhodes asked.

“Where the demonstration was,” Hack said.

“The Reverend Funk,” Rhodes said. “And there wasn’t a demonstration.”

“That’s the one,” Hack said.

“Fine,” Rhodes said. “What did the reverend want today? I hope there hasn’t been another disturbance.”

“Not exactly,” said Ruth Grady as she stepped through the door leading to the cell block. “But it’s pretty close.”

“Good morning, Ruth,” Rhodes said. “I hope you aren’t getting like these two old reprobates.”

Ruth Grady smiled. “Well, they’ve been letting me hang around a little. Hack’s been teaching me about the radio.”

“She’s pickin’ it up pretty dern quick, too,” Hack said. “Before long, she’ll know near about as much as I do.”

“Now, Hack, you know better than that,” Ruth said.

She winked at Rhodes over Hack’s head. Rhodes had to smile.

“Don’t you laugh, Sheriff,” Hack said. “I know you don’t think much of how smart some women can be, but some of us are more. . uh, liberated, than you are.”

“I guess that’s right,” Rhodes said. “But I’m trying to improve myself. Now, back to Reverend Funk.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hack said. “Seems he had a crowd on the church parkin’ lot last night and this mornin’. He called to complain about it and asked for a little help. I told him that the sheriff’d have to deal with it.”

“First time I ever heard a preacher complain about a crowd,” Rhodes said. “But you say this one stayed all night?”

“All night,” Hack said. “Messed up that parkin’ lot somethin’ awful.”

“Messed it up how?”

Hack looked at Ruth Grady, who was standing with a very straight face. “Well, they messed it up,” he said. Rhodes didn’t get it. He looked at Ruth, too.

To keep from laughing, Ruth said, “It was cows, Sheriff. The crowd was a herd of cows. They spent the night on the church parking lot.”

“Oh,” Rhodes said.

“That preacher’s hoppin’ mad,” Lawton said.

“Mad ain’t the word,” Hack said. “They call it ‘wrath’ in the Bible.”

“Same thing,” Lawton said.

“Anyway,” Hack said, “he says it’s Mr. Clawson’s cows. You know, he has that little feedlot three or four blocks from the church. I guess the fence broke. Reverend Funk’s been out on that parkin’ lot most of the mornin’, so far, with a shovel and some plastic garbage bags. He wants you to arrest Mr. Clawson and put him on the other end of a shovel. If you won’t do that, he wants you down there yourself.”

“He’s kidding,” Rhodes said.

“I don’t think so,” Ruth said.

“You’re the sheriff,” Hack said.

“Seems like I’ve heard that one before,” Rhodes said.

That evening Rhodes and Ivy were eating supper at the Bluebonnet-hamburgers and Dr Peppers, Rhodes’s favorite. Ivy wanted to know how his day had been.

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Rhodes said.

“Considering the things I’ve seen, heard, and done in the last few days just being around you, I’d believe just about anything,” Ivy said.

“Speaking of that, you never did tell me about learning to ride a motorcycle,” Rhodes said. He thought fleetingly of Ivy’s legs and how they had looked when she hiked up her skirt. He looked down at his Dr Pepper in case he was blushing.

“I told you, my brother taught me,” Ivy said. “He had a bike when we were teenagers, and I wanted to learn to ride. We had to go out to an old field on the far side of town so my mother wouldn’t catch us. She’d have died if she had known.”

Rhodes looked wistful. “I always sort of wanted to own a motorcycle,” he said.

“It’s fun, but it’s dangerous,” Ivy said. “And look at the kind of people it can get you involved with.”

“That’s the truth,” Rhodes said.

“Now, about your day,” Ivy said.

Rhodes told her.

Ivy laughed. “Do you get any extra pay for that?” she asked.

Rhodes shook his head. “I even had to provide my own shovel,” he said.

“Maybe your job isn’t as glamorous and exciting as I thought,” Ivy said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rhodes said. “Tomorrow, two government guys are going to show me how to burn a whole field of marijuana.”

“Now that does sound exciting,” Ivy said.

Rhodes shook his head again. “No,” he said biting into the last chunk of his hamburger. “It’s the same thing. We just won’t be using a shovel.” He wadded up the paper the hamburger had been wrapped in and threw it at the trash can.

Ivy stood up and took his hand. Then he drove her home.