Bobby Cole - The dummy line

R.C. was hauling ass. His blues were flashing, but he’d turned off the siren in a vain attempt to hear what Tanner was saying. His mind was racing even faster than he was driving.

“R.C., what’s your twenty?” Martha asked calmly.

“I’m on Seventeen headed south. Just passed the Kendalls’ farm. Where’s the ambulance?”

“They just crossed the interstate headed your way. You should see their lights in about five minutes.”

“Yes’m,” he replied, trying to keep both hands on the steering wheel as much as possible.

“Ollie’s on his way here-expect him to radio you any minute.”

“Let me get him transferred to the EMTs, and then I’ll tell Ollie what I know.”

“Ten-four. I dispatched Larson to take the Tillmans to the hospital.”

“I’m guessin’ they’ll airlift him to Tuscaloosa or UAB.”

“Dear Lord…is he that bad, R.C.?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“R.C.…Ollie wants you to come here as soon as possible.”

“Ten-four.”

Ollie had gotten the call just after crawling in bed and turning off the lights. His wife never woke up. Jackie was used to this sort of thing. Ollie told Martha he would be right there and to make some fresh coffee. Driving to the office, he listened to the police radio, resisting the urge to question R.C. He could tell he had his hands full. If R.C. got too distracted, somebody could get killed. Ollie switched on the blues in his tan Expedition and punched the gas. What a night, he thought.

“I see them up ahead. I’m pullin’ over!”

“Ten-four, R.C. Hold on.” Twenty seconds passed. “They’ve got a visual on you, too.”

“I’ll radio as soon as they have him!”

“Ten-four, Unit Three.”

The ambulance did a quick U-turn and stopped next to R.C.’s cruiser. Within seconds, the EMTs jumped out, opened the back doors, and slid out the gurney. It automatically opened, and they rolled it next to the rear quarter panel of the car. R.C. opened the back door but didn’t know what to do next. He was anxious to help but was at a loss. The two EMTs were very professional. They had seen it all.

“I don’t know what all’s wrong with him. I think he’s been beat up. I knew I could get him out of there faster than y’all could get there,” R.C. said hopefully.

“You did good, R.C.,” said the female EMT, reaching for Tanner’s wrist. The male EMT shined a light in Tanner’s eyes, checking for dilation. The EMTs looked at each other and nodded in agreement.

“Let’s roll!” the woman said and then grabbed Tanner under his arms. “R.C., hold his head.”

R.C. helped the EMTs make certain the gurney straps were tight. Then he looked at his hands, casually wiped the blood on his pants, and asked, “Do you think he needs airlifting?”

“I don’t know. Once they clean him up and X-ray him, then they can tell,” the male EMT replied with a grunt as they lifted the gurney into the unit. The female EMT jumped in the back, and the guy slammed the doors.

“That’s Tanner Tillman…you know, from the football team?”

“No way?” he said, surprised. “Well, he’s in good hands now!”

R.C. looked in through the side window and saw the EMT placing an oxygen mask on Tanner’s blood-covered face. As the ambulance raced off, R.C. stood watching, listening.

“Three to Base,” R.C. finally called in.

“Go ahead, R.C.,” Martha replied.

“Is the sheriff there yet?”

“He’s walking in the door.”

R.C. dropped the car in gear and headed straight for the sheriff’s office. He had driven about a mile when the radio crackled.

“Base to Unit Three.”

“Unit Three.”

“What happened out there, R.C.?”

“Chief, I don’t know. I was ridin’ the roads near that camp and turned on the Dummy Line and about three miles down there were two vehicles but no people. I got out to check on things and found Tanner at the edge of the road.”

“What do you think happened to him…what’s your gut sayin’?”

“I think he got the crap beat out of him in a fight.”

“Not some kind of an accident?”

“No. This was on purpose.”

“Was anyone else there? What was the other vehicle?”

“I didn’t see anyone. The other truck looked familiar, but I can’t place it. I left so fast I didn’t look at the plates-sorry,” he added quickly.

“What’s your ETA?”

“Five minutes.”

“Hurry up,” the sheriff said, then stood.

Ollie poured himself a cup of coffee. Cream, three sugars. Martha was on the phone with the hospital. Ollie walked to his desk and sat down to look at a county map. His eyes drifted to the massive wilderness bordering the camp. Could these incidents be related? He planned to quiz R.C. and then go to the hospital to see the kid for himself.

R.C. ran in and plopped down in the chair in front of the sheriff’s desk. He was obviously proud of himself.

“Hey, Chief,” R.C. said, expecting accolades.

“R.C., do you think these, well, these two incidents are or could be related?”

“Tanner probably got into a fight over some girl or the baseball game, but if that’s what it was, the fight got way ugly. He had the crap beat out of him.”

“High school fights don’t get that brutal.” Ollie sipped his coffee. R.C. shrugged, then nodded tentatively in agreement.

They both looked up when they heard someone running down the hall. Martha rushed into the room with a panicked look on her face.

“Ollie, Tanner Tillman’s mother just told me that Tanner had a date tonight with Elizabeth Beasley…she’s asking where the Beasley girl is.”’

Ollie and Martha wheeled to R.C. His eyes got wide and he jumped up.

“Holy shit! That’s what he was trying to say…Elizabeth! She’s out there! I’m on my way!” R.C. yelled, racing down the hall.

Ollie grabbed his cowboy hat as he ran toward the door. “Who else is on duty tonight?” he asked, holding the door open.

“Larson and Shug,” Martha quickly responded.

“Have them meet me wherever R.C. is saying this happened. I’m on my way. Radio R.C. to slow down long enough for me to catch up. Tell them both no sirens, just lights.”

“Yes sir, Chief!” Martha replied. As soon as the door closed, she lit another cigarette.

Standing silently along the creek’s edge, Reese listened for his prey. His shortcut through the woods had worked. He was about half a mile from the Dummy Line. He could hear a vehicle speeding east. That has be Johnny Lee’s killer and his kid. He musta seen Tiny and Sweat and they flushed him back my way. If I coulda been here a few minutes earlier, I’da killed him as he drove by-just like shootin’ a rabbit. The killer had nowhere to run. There were only two ways out, and they were blocked. This guy’s screwed and payback’s comin’. Reese smiled at the thought.

Reese flipped open the phone, found Tiny’s number, and hit Send.

Beep-beep . No response.

Beep-beep . Again no response.

“Dammit,” he said aloud. Tiny never remembers to carry his phone. Hell, the lardass couldn’t even remember to turn it on. He drives me crazy. I gotta do all the thinkin’. I hate incompetence. Off to his right a pack of coyotes started howling.

Poaching and drinking while driving were Reese’s favorite pastimes, and most of the time he combined them. It had been several years since Reese had been poaching on this property. The timber was a bit bigger now, but he knew where he was and where he was going.