Bobby Cole - The dummy line

It had only been about six months since the last time Larson had been to Johnny Lee’s place. The sheriff’s department had received a call concerning gunfire. Larson had been the first to arrive. There were two naked teenage meth addicts in the backyard shooting a .22 rifle into the woods trying to kill the “tree people.” At the sight of Shug, both kids cooperated. Larson found it sad how they insisted the trees were full of people who wanted to kill them. As he was loading the junkies into the police cruiser, Johnny Lee stepped out of the trailer and thanked him. He said that he couldn’t sleep with all the noise. Larson knew the kids had bought the drugs from Johnny Lee; he just couldn’t prove it. The boys were only sixteen years old.

Larson cut off his headlights about two hundred yards from Johnny Lee’s double-wide. As he eased closer to the trailer, he saw a black Tahoe or Suburban backed up to the front door. Larson didn’t recognize it but was certain it wasn’t Johnny Lee’s. Then he saw the small orange glow of a lit cigarette on the front deck of the trailer. Larson decided to pull up and ask a few questions. He told the ever-licking Shug, “ Achtung ,” as he flipped on his headlights and braked to a stop. The guy sitting on the front steps was blowing smoke rings.

The black Tahoe had chrome spinner rims. Larson looked around carefully before he got out of his car. He rolled down the back window in case he needed Shug.

“Evenin’…or I guess I should say mornin’,” Larson said as he closed his car door.

The guy simply nodded.

“You got a name?” Larson asked.

Moon Pie took a long drag on his cigarette and decided to tell the truth. “Ethan Daniels,” he said after he blew smoke into the air and flipped his cigarette butt into the gravel. “I’m down here to do little fishin’.”

“Oh. I see. Where’s Johnny Lee?”

“He went to get us some bait,” Moon Pie replied, cool as could be.

Larson wasn’t buying whatever this guy was selling, but he didn’t have much to go on. He played along in hopes of learning something.

“I really need to talk to him,” Larson said, trying to look through the tinted windows of the vehicle.

“Until he gets back, I don’t know how to get in touch with him.”

“What about his cell phone?”

“I don’t know if he’s even got one.”

Moon Pie slipped a cigarette between his lips and offered the pack to Larson.

“No, thanks,” Larson replied. “You a chain smoker?”

“I like ‘em well enough, I guess,” Moon Pie replied, then cupped his hands around the cigarette, and lit it. He expertly blew a smoke ring.

“As soon as you see him or talk to him, tell him the sheriff’s department wants to speak with him immediately. Tell him to call us as soon as you see him. Here’s my card. I’m serious.”

“Glad to. I always support the Law.”

Larson walked to the back of the Tahoe and shone the light on the tag. As he was memorizing the plate number, he asked Ethan where he called home.

“I’m from Noxapater, Mississippi, but I live in Tupelo,” Ethan replied, knowing better than to lie about that.

“How do you know Johnny Lee?”

“We went to med school together,” he replied.

That made Larson laugh. “So you’re a comedian. I need to talk to Johnny Lee or any of his other runnin’ buddies right now,” Larson added in a very serious tone.

“When I see him…I’ll tell him.”

“I mean it now, you tell him to call us.” Larson gave Moon Pie a very determined look.

“No problem, Officer.”

Larson climbed back in his cruiser and rolled up the back window. He decided to tell the sheriff the latest. Staring at Ethan, Larson radioed Ollie.

“Go ahead, Larson.”

“Sheriff, I’m at the suspect’s residence. He isn’t here. There’s a guy sittin’ on the porch, says his name’s Ethan Daniels from Tupelo. He has a Mississippi tag. He says they’re goin’ fishin’. Claims the suspect has gone to get some bait.”

“Jailbait,” R.C. whispered under his breath. He was listening to the conversation.

“Why don’t you back up and keep an eye on him. Stay close to the radio. I’ve called in reinforcements. They should be here shortly.”

“Ten-four, Sheriff.”

Larson backed up and drove away, trying to give the impression that he was leaving. After about a mile, he turned around and, without lights, slowly eased the patrol car to within two hundred yards, just out of sight of the trailer, and parked.

Moon Pie heard the deputy return. He wasn’t falling for that old trick. He needed to report this to Reese. He climbed into his Tahoe and shut the door.

Beep-beep. “Reese?”

Approximately thirty seconds crawled by before any response.

Beep-beep. “Yeah.”

Beep-beep. “Yo, I’m here and Deputy Dawg supercop come by askin’ questions ‘bout Johnny Lee. He acted like he was leavin’, but he’s parked just down the road. He can’t see the trailer or me. He got my tag number, but I didn’t tell him shit.”

Beep-beep. “Where’s my package?”

Beep-beep. “Stored inside.”

Reese’s mind raced. He wanted revenge, but having the girl was getting too risky. That wasn’t smart. He was trying to think about what was going on with the cops. There could be a thousand reasons why the cops wanna talk to Johnny Lee. That ain’t out of the ordinary. But tonight? At this hour? We gotta ditch the woman!

Beep-beep. “Hey, sit tight a minute.”

Beep-beep. “All right…Look, I wanna help, but I don’t need no trouble. No, make that we don’t need trouble,” Moon Pie replied, growing anxious. He owed Johnny Lee a favor-that’s what had gotten him involved in this mess-but he was willing to stay in it because of the huge potential profits from running drugs on the rivers, and that venture would be decimated if Reese was in prison.

Beep-beep. “Just hang on.”

Beep-beep. “Deputy Dawg’s gonna follow me if I leave.”

Reese realized Moon Pie was right, and he didn’t want the woman in the trailer if anything went down.

Beep-beep. “I said hang on. I’m thinkin’.”

Moon Pie shook his head and then said quietly, “Dammit!” Now I’m lookin’ at federal time for kidnappin’. Reese’s got ten minutes. That’s it.

Sheriff Ollie Landrum and Deputy R.C. Smithson stood side-by-side with their backs against the front quarter panel of the sheriff’s Expedition. They stared blankly into the cold darkness just beyond the camp’s lights. They had not spoken for several minutes.

Ollie was feeling the mounting pressure to act. The clock was ticking. His palms were sweating. Somethin’s gotta happen and pretty damn quick.

R.C. blurted, “Just call him. Tell him who you are and that you need to see him ASAP.”

“Is that the best you can do?” Ollie asked. “I was hoping for something a little more tricky comin’ from you.”

“We could get a known associate of Johnny Lee’s, maybe Ray-Ray Walker, to call him…but that would take hours to put together. Let’s just push the envelope ourselves…maybe use that old ruse where someone calls anonymously tellin’ ‘em a search warrant’s been issued.”

“Well, Ray-Ray is doing time so he’s not a candidate. Besides, I don’t think he’d go for it anyway. That punk would enjoy seeing us squirm. Let’s-”

Before Ollie could finish, the radio crackled to life, and they both spun to listen.