Bobby Cole - The dummy line

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?”

“No problem. I was gonna go see if I could catch some crappie in the mornin’, but I can go later.”

“Are they bitin’?” Ollie asked, swatting at some type of bug.

“Apparently; some idiot got stabbed over a fishin’ hole late this afternoon. An accident ,” R.C. said, making quotation marks with his hands as he said the word.

“I don’t even want to hear about it,” Ollie said as he rubbed his forehead and walked out.

Tiny and Sweat braced for a shootout as they slowed down. They didn’t recognize the Jeep. Whoever it was had just opened the gate and was about to drive through.

Tiny stopped about fifty yards away, straight in front of the Jeep, with his high beams shining right at it. Before he knew it, Sweat glided out of the truck like a commando and slithered down into the ditch. Tiny took a deep breath. His adrenaline was pumping at record levels.

Tiny grabbed his pistol as he got out, then started walking toward the Jeep. I didn’t want all this trouble. I just wanted to steal some shit to sell.

Johnny Lee was always pushing the envelope. And Tiny was a follower, following Johnny Lee right into this huge mess.

Elizabeth nervously asked Tanner, “Who’s that?”

“I don’t have a clue,” Tanner responded, never taking his eyes off the truck. He swallowed hard and climbed out, hoping to find coon hunters. He walked through the open gate and stood in the glare of the headlights.

“Stay in the Jeep,” Elizabeth pleaded.

“Hey! We need to get through!” Tanner yelled but got no reply.

“Tanner, be careful!” Elizabeth called worriedly.

Tiny’s jumbo silhouette moved through the beams of his headlights, then stood motionless about twenty yards away from Tanner. Tiny could see somewhat, but he couldn’t hear well-the truck’s glass-packed mufflers were rumbling in his ears. Tanner could see Tiny’s pistol. Then he heard a limb crack in the woods and glanced off into the inky darkness, but he couldn’t make out a thing. His attention immediately went back to the big guy and the gun.

“We need to get through!” Tanner yelled nervously.

“Nobody’s gettin’ through unless we say so.”

“Look, I’m Tanner Tillman, and I have been back on my folks’ place. I need to come out.”

Tanner thought he saw car lights reflected in the treetops, but when he turned around to look to see if another vehicle was coming up behind them, he saw nothing. His mind was racing. He heard another stick break to his left. The woods were pitch-black, and the glare of the headlights blinding.

I gotta get Elizabeth out of here-quick. I’ll drive down in the ditch, around the truck and the big redneck with the gun.

As Tanner started to climb in, he heard another noise, and before he could turn, someone grabbed him from behind and slammed him to the ground, knocking the breath out of him, and ground his face into the gravel. Elizabeth was screaming. Tanner was being kicked in the sides. He struggled but couldn’t get up. He tried to turn to see who had attacked him.

Tiny ran as fast as he could toward the Jeep. Sweat beat Tanner senseless and then turned his attention to the screaming girl. Sweat wasn’t expecting this little piece of good fortune. She was beautiful. His focus had been on the guy standing by the Jeep, and he had never known she was there until she screamed. Sweat reached across the seat to grab her, but she jumped back just out of his reach, screaming louder.

Tanner managed to pull himself up and wrap his arms around Sweat’s waist. Tanner was way out of his league. Sweat outweighed him by more than a hundred pounds and had honed his fighting skills with years of bar brawls and knife fights. Tanner had been in one fight, and that had been in the seventh grade.

Sweat spun around and dragged Tanner to the front of the Jeep where he elbowed him hard in the face, breaking his nose. Pain flashed like a white light through Tanner’s brain. Sweat then threw him into the grill of the Jeep. Tanner could barely see or breathe.

As Tanner struggled to his knees, Tiny hit him in the back of the head with the butt of his pistol, knocking him flat on the ground. “Stay down or you’re gonna get killed,” Tiny advised sympathetically. Tiny didn’t like this at all. He wasn’t going to kill the kid, but he knew Sweat would without hesitation.

“Elizabeth, get out of here! Run! Run, Elizabeth!” Tanner screamed as he lifted himself to his elbows.

Sweat grabbed Tanner by the hair, dragged him to his knees, then forced his mouth open on the front bumper of the Jeep. Tanner could not move and was gasping for breath. He could taste the cold metal bumper. Sweat then viciously kicked the back of Tanner’s head, knocking out all his front teeth.