Tag Archives: Collars

Chapter Seventy — One: The Plastic Bag

31 Oct

Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches. Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

 

 

 

DeVry put the plastic bag on Collars desk, explaining what it was. Collars nodded. “Soon as I can,” he said in dismissal. DeVry left, closing the door gently behind him.

Collars stared at the bag. If what DeVry said was true then what was in that plastic bag could put Morgan one step closer to the Chief’s job and one step closer to selling out the police station to the highest bidder. On the other hand, if the plastic bag were fraudulent, the police department, and the city, would be safer in the future.

There were times when Collars wished right and wrong were easier to keep track of. The good of the many. The good of the few. For some people it was a clear-cut choice. For others, there were no clear choices.

A choice between something bad in the present, and something worse in the future.

Of course if Morgan were ousted out of the force under serious enough shadow he wouldn’t be able to get back in even if evidence arose some time in the future to clear the Davenport girl.

Collars sighed heavily and picked up the bag.

Time to make a decision, time to decide what the right thing was to do and then to do it.

Collars turned the clear plastic bag over and over again staring at it fixedly. His frown deepening, his jaw tightening, as he did so.

 

© 2016 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Sixty — Nine: Guarded

17 Oct

Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

 

 

Morgan and Delavera were on their way back to town to deliver the flash drive to Collars when the call came. Davenport was in custody and in the hospital in serious condition. They changed course.

The hospital was crowded. It seemed to be a night for knife wounds, beatings, two cardiac arrests, and one passed out drunk.

DeVry and his partner Peters were the designated guards. DeVry did not smile. “Collars said you might show up.”

“We are here.”

“He thinks you have a special interest in the case.”

“I do.”

“He said if you did show up to tell you to take over. And don’t screw this one up or he’ll have your head.” DeVry was in professional, “This is my job. I’m doing it,” mode. He did not take the pronouncement as a joke. Neither did Morgan nor Delavera.

“Can do that. Delavera has a flash drive for you. You take it straight to Collars and tell him he has to listen to it immediately.” Morgan looked at Delavera.

Delavera shook her head in a gesture of defeat. She searched her pockets. Pulled a plastic bag with a flash drive in it out of her left. Handed it to Morgan, who examined it through the plastic carefully. He was relieved to see it was undamaged. Clipped to the bag was a small ticket. Morgan signed it, handed the pen to DeVry.

“We want the chain intact. Make sure Collars signs off on it.”

DeVry nodded and did so.

“You sure this is a good idea? Asked Delavera.

“Yep. DeVry and Peters would only be watching to make sure she doesn’t escape. They don’t have orders to protect her from a killer and they wouldn’t worry about it without orders. If we told them they might up their vigil but they wouldn’t put any stock in it.”

“Excuse me,” Delavera told him, pulling out her cell phone. “My cousin is calling me.”

She spoke spanish far too fast for him to follow, although what he did catch made him wonder why she appeared to be discussing the quality of cigarettes when to his knowledge she had never smoked.

Morgan went to L C’s bedside. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Hurt.”

“Doctors say there is nothing serious. How much do you remember?”

“Every,” there was a pause as L C drew another breath, “thing.”

“That is good. We will need a statement from you later. Right now you better rest.”

Doctors came and went. Nurses came and went. Morgan examined the identification of each person as they entered.

“Why you doing that?” asked one nurse. “The other policemen didn’t.”

Morgan shrugged. “Everybody does their job the best they know how.” The nurse said nothing but the look she gave him had wtf all over it. 

Both a doctor and a nurse were in the room when an old Mexican grandmother tottered into the room hanging onto the door, “¿Dónde está el baño?” she asked in a weak and shaky voice.

Morgan frowned at her, wondering why anyone would look for a bathroom here.

“She is just an old lady,” Delavera said. “Let me get this one.” She took the old ladies hand, folded it in her own, and said, “Todo está bien, abuelita. Ven comigo, por favor.”

Morgan kept an eye on them, but nothing seemed suspicious as Delavera led the old lady down the hallway toward the waiting room where the bathrooms were. He turned back to the doctor and nurse. Everything seemed fine. Morgan wondered why he felt so on edge.  

“That should help you with the pain,” the doctor said to L C. “Can you talk now?”

“Yes. Much better.” Her smile was tentative, her voice was hopeful. 

The doctor turned to Morgan. “Try not to upset her. She has been through a lot.”

“It’s okay, doctor. What I have to say should calm her down and make her happy.”

The doctor nodded. “Good.” He left.

Delavera came back into the room. Morgan rounded the bed where it would be easy to look into L C’s eyes, which were both pleading and hopeful. Delavera joined him. Delavera held L C’s hand.

“We found the flash drive with the confession on it. You should be okay now.”

L C Squeezed Delavera’s hand and cried silently.

 

 

 

© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Sixty — Seven: The Ute

27 Sep
Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

“We need to get that flash drive to Collars,” Morgan said, eying the dark sky.

“I don’t trust him.” Delavera eyed the plastic bag with the flash drive in it.

“Ah, Collars is all right. He just thinks I got my last partner hurt is all. It’ll pass.”

“I don’t think that is it, Morgan. I think he has a lot more against you than that. I don’t know what it is but he hates you.”

Morgan laughed. “What could he possibly hate me about? Even if he did he is still a professional. He sees the evidence he will be a policeman and follow procedure wherever it leads. That’s what cops do.”

“He is a white man.”

“So am I. The kids in my neighborhood would have thought you were white too. They never heard of the ‘Mexican’ standoff thing. Odd, isn’t it that you can be a white person in one place and not in another?”

She looked up at him, serious coffee brown eyes unwavering. “Know what I am besides Mexican? I’m Ute. You know what the Utes are famous for?”

“Being Native American Indian?”

“Believing the white man. One group of Utes realized the white man was going to win. They believed all the promises the white man gave them about how they would be rewarded if they helped capture the Navajo. They weren’t on good terms with the Navajo at the time and it seemed like a reasonable deal.”

Morgan listened. “What happened?”

“The whites gave the Utes rifles, told them to help round up all the Navajos and bring them in. The Utes kept their part of the bargain. When it came time to march the Indians on the Trail of Tears, the white man turned their rifles on the Utes. Told them to drop their weapons and join the others.”

“That was a long time ago. It was a different world then.”

“It is a long time ago to you. Cortes was a long time ago too. Tell, me, Officer Morgan, were you ever beaten up in grade school by a bully?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You remember it, don’t you?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I bet you the bully. He don’t remember.”
© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Sixty–One: Sic ‘Em

17 May

Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

 

 

Collar’s bellow brought everyone and everything to a quick stop filled with silence.

“MORgan. DEla VERa.”

Nothing moved. Every eye in the room fixed on Collars. Including Morgan and Delavera.

Collars held a piece of paper out to his side at arm’s length as though it were a starting flag to be waved.

“Your murder suspect rented a car this morning. Find the car. And her. And try not to blow it this time.”

The only sound in the room was Morgan and Delavera putting things down, getting up, and moving to the door of the squad room, pas Collars. Morgan grabbed the paper out of Collars hand, as rudely as he dared. Delavera blew Collars a squared lipped kiss as she passed.

As the door closed behind them they could hear Collars bellow, “Get back to work.”

Morgan read the paper and passed it to Delavera. She waited until she was in the car before reading it. She wrinkled her brow. “How does he expect us to find her?”

“I don’t think he does. I think he wants us to fail.”

“But you don’t think we will. Why?”

“I know something either Collars does not know, or thinks I won’t know.”

“Which is?”

“Watch,” Morgan said with a smile as they pulled into the car lot.

The man came out of the small building. He managed to look like exactly what he was. A used car salesman who not only sold used cars but rented them.

“What can I do for the city’s finest?” the used car salesman asked.

“You can point them out to us,” replied Morgan, “So we can arrest them. We hate competition.”

The man laughed. The laugh appeared to be genuine and not simply a salesman’s ploy. Either he was a better actor than average or he had a real sense of humor.

“You rented a car to a Miss Davenport this morning?”

“Sure did. Only business I’ve had all day.”

“Can we see your paper work? Was she alone?”

“She wanted me to think she was.”

“Okay. So what happened?”

“I don’t have a lot to do but stare out the window all day until somebody shows up. I see this man and woman walk up to the corner,” he pointed to the corner he was referring to. “At first I thought it was a working girl and her pimp but when they talked it looked more like she was in command. “He stayed at the corner and she came on in alone.”

“When she left did she pick him up?”

“Can’t swear to it. He stayed over there and watched until she got in the car she rented, the cheapest one I had. Then he turned and walked that way, out of sight. She looked class but he looked like a druggie coming down after a high. What I could see of him from here.”

“Could you identify him if you see him again.”

“Possible. Lot of that kind around here though. I’d give it a try.”

“We need to find the car. And her.”

“Like I said, she went that way.”

“Give us the GPS on it.”

“How would you know if I got a GPS on it? I don’t exactly hang a sign out saying so.”

“Because you are not stupid. You are in a low rent business that caters to low rent people. Even if your customer is Mr. Honest more cars are stolen in this area of town than anywhere else in the county. So show me where the car is right now.”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t noise it around. A lot of my customers would be spooked if they thought I knew where they were and could guess what they might be doing.”

“I promise you. If I tell anybody my partner will shoot me for you on sight.”

Delavera nodded and patted her holster meaningfully.

© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Thirty-One: Morgan

1 Feb
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

 

“Morgan,” Chief Collars bellowed, “Where’s your partner.”

Morgan glared at the uncooperative screen on his terminal and answered, “I think she stepped outside to practice her accent.”

“Not interested in your domestic squabbles. You two have a pickup to make.” Collars handed a piece of paper to one of the female officers and gestured toward Morgan. She managed to deliver it without looking at the paper, Morgan, Collars, or any one else in the room.

When it dropped down on the desk Morgan picked it up. Pursed his lips. Without any other expression he headed out to the parking lot where Delavera was earnestly talking into her cell phone.

Morgan caught her eye, jerked his head in the direction of the car.

“Gotta go.” She said into the phone, clicked it shut and followed him. He swung into the driver’s side, she slid into the passenger side. “You should let me behind the wheel sometime. I learned how to drive in Tijuana. I give you exciting time. Show you where all the good places are with the bad women.”

“Last thing I need is more excitement.”

“Hmmmm. Are you sitting on a thumb tack? Honest, I didn’t mean to leave it there.”

Morgan handed her the piece of paper.

She read it. Shrugged. “So?”

“See the name of the person we are supposed to arrest?”

“Yeah.” She looked at both sides.

“See who the boss is? Where we are to make the arrest at?”

Delavera whistled. “I always wanted to see the inside of that house. What is the problem?”

“I’ve already seen the inside of the house. I slid down the banister.”

Delavera studied him from every possible angle. “You don’t look like you were born rich.”

“Close enough. My mother is Jessica Bain.”

“Sorry.” She looked blank.

“Just Bain Me beauty salon. She owns it. And if a client is in serious need she has been known to make house calls. When the old lady couldn’t leave the house any more it was our Saturday afternoon outing. She’s been their beautician for two generations.”

“I’ve always wanted to get my hair done there. If I mention your name will I get a discount?”

“If I ask her to, she will come out to the car and do your hair for free.”

“Woooo. I take back everything I say. I love you dearly. We will get married right after your mom comes out and does my hair, just as you said. You will be my querido. My Don Quixote.”

Morgan smiled. “See who we are supposed to arrest?”

“Yeah. I see. Does she slide down banisters too?”

“She might. I don’t know.”

“So what is the problem, future love of my life?”

“I am at least partly responsible for her getting the job.”

“Collars know all this?”

“Oh yes. I’m sure he is hoping I’ll make a blunder he can call conflict of interest or something.

“Did you look at the charge?”

Morgan nodded and concentrated on his driving.

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Twenty-nine: The Discovery

18 Jan
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

Officer Morgan walked past the squad room into the bull pen past Chewy’s desk. He was early. A common occurrence for him when it was his turn to have the kids. At least they were both school age now. He did not have to worry about day care facilities. But he did have spare time between dropping them off and starting his shift. Not enough time to do anything constructive, but time. So he was early again.

Morgan was six foot plus a pinch to grow on. Blue eyes and blond hair cut into a three quarter inch butch. His hair was always perfectly cut, his mother saw to that. It wasn’t that he liked the cut itself. It was the fact it was convenient. He didn’t have to comb it and it was quick to wash. It had the added advantage it made him look more like a cop. Seen as he did not always act the part, he might as well do his best to look it.

Everyone in the room was busy doing something, typing, talking on the phone, talking to each other, rustling papers, cussing under their breath at computer monitors, texting, all very low key but busy busy busy, except for one. She sat on the edge of a desk doing something intently with her nails. She looked like a teenager ready to pop bubble gum out of her mouth any second. Morgan figured she was in trouble again about something. Every partner she had complained about her.

He was picking his way across the room to his own desk, moving around people and chairs as he had most every morning, not actively listening to what was going on until he passed close to DeVry who was saying, “Ballistics says the bullet found in the head of the prostitute matches the bullet found in the head of the horse. Fired from the same gun. At about the same distance.”

Morgan paused, wondering if he heard correctly, “The head of the horse?”

“Yeah.” DeVry looked up from his partner, a much shorter man seated in a chair. DeVry sat on the desk, causing him to tower over the other man like a giant. “You remember that horse Mr. Somebody named… Corrigan I think. Anyway you must remember. He was making a big fuss about his horse being shot in the head.”

Morgan looked down at Peters. They were both serious. “We ran ballistics on the bullet from a horse? Must be some expensive horse.”

“Nah, and nah to that too, but the guy has money and he paid for it, so we did it.” Smiling, he added, “I wonder if he loves his wife as much as he does his horse. A real cowboy, that one.”

“Morgan.” Chief of Police Collars had a voice developed to be heard, and everyone who heard it winced. “DeVry and Peters have a case to work on. Leave em alone.” Collars was a square man with a perpetually loosened tie, rolled up sleeves, buttons looking like they were threatening to pop… He looked like a man who ought to have a cigar jammed between his teeth. Perhaps he was an ex-smoker. That would explain why he was so anti-cigarette. It was often said ex-smokers were the most fanatic non-smokers.

“Yeah,” whispered DeVry, “We gotta go find out if the horse and the prostitute were working the same corner.”

“I heard that.” Bellowed Chief Collars. “Get out there and do something… You’re wasting your time sitting in here cracking stupid.” He held a piece of paper in the air. “You. Morgan. You got nothing better to do?” Collars waved the paper in Morgans face. “Here is a crank call. Some idiot’s dog won’t get off a porch.”

Morgan thought about his desk full of undone book work and the fact he wasn’t even on the clock yet and smiled ruefully.

He snatched the paper out of Collars’ hand. As he did so he realized it was an act very close to insubordination. Morgan himself could not have said if it was an act of defiance, standing up for himself, or simply allowing Collars to “get” to him.

Collars continued to bellow, “Your gold bricking partner may never get back here,”

Morgan cut him off, ”I’ll take Delavera.” Except for Morgan and Collars every eye in the place went to the Mexican girl doing her nails. She took a deep breath, which augmented her natural assets, and did nothing to distract anyone’s gaze, then she slowly, carefully, looked up at Morgan and Collars.

“You do that. You bring her back in one piece, you understand?” There was some snickering. Collars ignored it as he locked eyes with Morgan.

The stare down was an open challenge, in front of everyone, a dominant male thing. Morgan was not even tempted to stare back defiantly, a teenager’s trick used by young people who did not know how to really stand up for themselves.

Instead Morgan smiled one of those smiles he used on strange women who eyed him when he strolled into a bar when off duty and out of uniform. Maintaining the smile he strolled out of the room, not once looking back; not at Collars, not at Delavera. Morgan knew every eye and ear in the room was fixed on the exchange. This was confirmed by Collars further bellow of, “Get back to work.” and “Delavera, your partner is gone. Catch him before he leaves you.”

There was another snicker. This time a solo.

When he reached the car she was scampering up behind him.

“Puto,” she whispered under her breath.

Morgan did not acknowledge he understood. He wasn’t sure to whom she was referring, himself, Collars, or someone else. He also knew enough Spanish to be aware that, like English, what was said wasn’t always exactly what was meant.

He started the car as she swung in.

“Where are we going?” she asked. She did not “look” Mexican, she looked like she could be Mexican, and her English betrayed no accent. He thought, as he had thought before, that feature could be useful under the right circumstances.

He passed her the paper. “You tell me.”

She studied the paper; frowned. “All the way up there? Is this even in our jurisdiction?”

“Call dispatch and find out.”

Morgan had been divorced long enough that he had no immunity to her smell, which was excellent; her looks, which were way better than average; or her figure, which, if it weren’t centerfold material it would take a professional to tell the difference.

Delavera pulled out a nine-inch smart tablet and fussed with it for a few seconds. Morgan assumed she was going to use it as a map.

“Take the highway north.”

He did.

“Not sure if I should thank you for asking for me to go with you or not.”

“Probably not.”

“Okay, why?”

“Collars doesn’t like me. That’s okay, I don’t like him either. Right now he is mad at me and you have a reputation of being hard to get along with. He was going to give you to me anyway. I just saved us the embarrassment of having you dumped on me and you the embarrassment of being pushed on someone who didn’t want you.”

“Save yourself the embarrassment, you mean.”

“Have it your way.” Morgan allowed his shoulders a quick twitch that passed for a shrug. “It worked out better for both of us and took some of the wind from under his wings.”

“Why is he mad at you.” She slouched down in the passenger seat in a very uncoplike manner, sidled her eyes out the window, looking more like a teenaged brat he was detaining than a trained police officer.

“My partner had a choice. He could say I did something stupid, or he could say he did something stupid. He chose to say I did something stupid. Collars blames me for him getting hurt.”

“Which was it? Turn here.” She pointed. “Who did something stupid? You or him?”

He turned onto a side road not looking at her. His peripheral vision picking up all the information he needed.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What did you write in your report?”

“That my full attention was on the person I was arresting. I was unable to see what he did.”

There was silence while she digested the implications.

“You telling me you are always Mr. Noble?”

“Nope.”

“So why would you be noble with me? Or with him?”

Morgan smiled and looked at her, blue eyes to brown eyes, “You haven’t pissed me off yet.”

She held his gaze. “So you think I will or you think I won’t?”

He looked back to the road. She stared at him fixedly.

“I think you’re already pissed. I think you are angry at the whole world and ready to kick out at anybody because you can’t kick whatever it is has you in its grip. Am I right.”

“So who do you think you are? The mentalist or that phony psych guy?”

“I think I’m a cop who has seen a few really pissed off people. Last girl I met acted like you are was fifteen, and her daddy decided she looked just like her mother when she was fifteen and he thought they ought to do the same things together.” He concentrated on his driving.

“So you think you are going to bring me out here and I’m going to spill my guts out to you and then what? We going to be great friends or something?” She concentrated on him.

“Nah, I’m just going to try not to piss you off any more than I have too.” He did not return her searching stare.

“Yeah. I don’t think you’re doing too well.” She turned to stare out the window.

“So tell Collars I’m an asshole. He will probably give you a commendation. Give him reason to fire me. Tell him I was looking at your butt when you got in. Then tell him I tried to look down your cleavage. He will give you a promotion.”

“My shirt is buttoned up.”

“Good liar never spoils a story with facts.”

“So what is with you? The girls say you are a single father”

“Yep.” He sucked in his lower lip.

“So you looking for a mother or a mistress or what?” Her attention was turned back to him, studying him.

“Just looking not to do something stupid again.” He kept his eyes to the road, not even catching her in his peripheral vision.

Delavera rolled down her window.

“So what did you do stupid the first time?” She was staring out the window again, hands palmed together in her lap.

“Wish I knew. Somewhere along the line I decided to be a cop and she decided to be a drug addict. Now the poor kids spend half their time with cops and the other half the time with people who think cops are the bad guys.”

“Ouch.”

They rode in silence.

“You aren’t mad as hell?”

He thought before he replied carefully, “I honestly don’t know how to feel.”

“I’d know how to feel. I’d be pissed.”

“So I don’t know my own mind.”

“Yeah, well I’m still married.”

“Doesn’t sound like a reason to be angry to me.”

“Yeah. Right. I’m married to a worthless gringo who has blue eyes like you. He has never worked a day in his life and all he does is criticize me.”

“What is to criticize?” Morgan looked at her carefully, “It sure doesn’t show from here.”

“He is sick of Mexican food. Wants me to cook more American. I told him I work all day. Why don’t you cook some ‘American food’, I’ll come home and eat it. One day I cooked some ‘All American food’ and he got mad ‘cuz I had tortillas on the table. I forgot the bread.”

“Buy him a hamburger on the way home tonight. That’s American.”

“Turn here, on that dirt road.” Morgan figured they were close. She was now sitting up straight in her seat.

Morgan had to slow down to negotiate the ruts and rocks. “Maybe you two just married the wrong people. Maybe you should call it quits.”

“He is a racist pig. But he kept it to himself until I was pregnant with my fourth baby. Then every time he gets mad he calls me a Mexican and my kids Mexicans. Then I try to teach the kids Spanish and he gets mad ‘cuz he doesn’t want them talking that stuff.’”

“I know a lot of people speak Spanish and not all of them are Mexican.”

“When I first met him he had me teaching him Spanish. I thought ‘How cute he wants to learn my language’. As soon as we were married he quit.”

“Too bad.”

“Too bad I married him. He is such a racist pig I should have cheated on him. I should have brought him home a nice fat little black baby.”

They rounded the corner. Two men stood by the side of a cabin, next to the steps. One was smoking, the other stood hunched, and there was a large dog, its tongue lolling, sitting on the porch staring at the door as though waiting for its owner let it in.

Morgan winked at Delavera, “At least we have settled one thing.”

“Whats that?”

“You have reason to be pissed off at the world.”

“Nah. Just you gringos.”

“Time go get out and be professional. We will try to pretend we don’t notice they are gringos.” The two men were obviously hunters. Their rifles were leaned up against the porch, within sight but well out of reach.

Morgan noticed that she almost smiled as she swung herself out the door of the squad car.

“What is going on?” Morgan asked the men.

The man in the heavy brown vest used his cigarette to indicate the slightly younger, slightly thinner, man.“ He can tell you. He thinks his damn dog is Lassie or Rin Tin Tin or something.”

The other man, smiled engagingly, “Not Lassie. He is a boy. His name is Harry.”

“Yeah, Harry. Know why he named the dog Harry? Because my name is Tom, his name is Dick,” he stressed the other man’s name, “and my sister married him for crying out loud.”

“So what is wrong with Tom, Dick, and Harry?” asked Dick.

“What is with the dog?” asked Morgan.

“Does he bite?” Asked Delavera.

“Nope.” Dick answered her.

“Stupid dog won’t get off the porch. We are supposed to be up here hunting, not dog sitting. Anyway numb nuts here thinks his dog has psychic powers or something and is wasting our day because the fool dog won’t get off the porch.”

“That your car?” Morgan indicated the SUV parked a few foot away.

“Nah. Probably the guy owns the cabin.”

Delavera petted and talked to the dog, calling him Harry, and knocked loudly on the door saying, “This is the police. Open the door please.” There was no reply from within.

“So how did you two get here? Why are you here?” asked Morgan.

“Followed this stupid dog my brother-in-law thinks is a canine genius. We came in one of the other roads, hadn’t even intended to come this way. Now we’ve wasted half the morning over nothing. I swear the only reason I tolerate him is because of my sister.”

Dick winked. It was unclear who, if anyone, he was winking at. “The only reason he tolerates me is because his sister and his wife are best friends. They are like sisters and he is afraid my wife thinks more of his wife than she does of him.”

“No puedo entender porque eso seria.” Delavera told the dog in a tender voice. Even without a basic understanding of what she said Morgan could have detected the sarcasm in her voice.

“What did she say?” asked the smoker.

“I told him he is a very good doggie.” She stood up, went to the window to look in. Harry followed her.

“We already did that,” Said the smoker again, taking a last drag off his cigarette, he spit in the palm of his left hand and then put the bright red butt out in it. He had followed Delavera and was within a foot of her,  yet he was unaware of the fleeting look of disgust on her face. Like Morgan she had excellent peripheral vision and did not need to look directly at him to see what he was doing.

Morgan had two reactions to this, one was disgust, the other slight admiration for the practicality of a woodsman or hunter making sure his cigarette did not start a fire in the woods. He was also aware Delavera would have no such qualms. She would be disgusted, period.

When Tom reached into his pocket Delavera stepped back from the window, placing herself to his side. Had he pulled a gun he would have quickly found himself face down on the ground with his gun and hand behind his back. It was not a gun. It was a small plastic container. He put his cigarette butt in it. As he did so he jabbed his chin in Delavera’s direction. “Tell her it is rude to talk that gibberish in front of people who don’t understand it.”

“I was talking to Harry,” she said. “I wanted him to teach me how to speak dog but he is reluctant. Perhaps you could help?” Morgan noted Delavera suddenly had an unmistakeable accent. As Tom turned red, Morgan was able to understand why Delavera’s last couple of partners had wanted to strangle her. She knew where people’s short hairs were and didn’t hesitate to tug on them. He remembered his grandmother reaching around to the back of his neck when he got out of line as a kid in a public place and giving the hairs on his neck a solid yank.

“Let me get your names. Write all this down.” Morgan used his official police officer voice, brought out his notebook. While their attention was on Morgan, Delavera dropped off the end of the porch and disappeared around the side of the cabin.

“If Dicky Wicky here would teach his dog to mind we never needed to call you and waste your time or ours. We’d all be on our way. Probably have a nice big buck by now.”

Dick smiled. “Harry is up about something. I didn’t want to break in and I don’t want to leave someone behind who is in trouble. I hope its not too late and everything turns out okay.”

“Windows open.” called Delavera from the side of the cabin.

The three men went around to where she was. She had pushed the window partway open but was unable to reach further. Nor was she able to hoist herself in.

Tom frowned, “Can you just go into someone’s house like that?”

“We have cause. Car is outside, no one answers inside and you two made a report.”

“I didn’t make any report. I think it is all a waste of time.”

“Let’s hope you are right.”

“Aren’t you supposed to go through the door or something?”

“We would prefer to do minimum damage. Why break down a door or wait for a locksmith when we can climb through the window?”

“You gonna talk all the day or you gonna do the help your partner though dee window, Meester Morgan?” Her accent was becoming thicker and more fraudulent by the minute. Still it was the man who complained about her talking Spanish that immediately offered to help her through the window.

Delavera pooched her lips at him. “We are dee professional policemans all trained right. My partner he will help me. You stands over there, out of dee way.” She indicated an area well away from the men’s rifles. They complied. The bigger man sullenly, the other cheerfully.

Morgan knelt in the basic lunge position, offering his left leg as a platform while his right leg and right hand were free next to his holster. She stepped up in one quick motion and quickly put herself waist deep into the window.

She was no more inside than she was saying, “Back, back, get me down outta here.” Her accent was gone.

Morgan grabbed her by the legs, in a not altogether professional manner and got her back down on the ground. She held herself against the wall with one hand and spewed. He waited until she was done.

“We need forensics,” she said. “And you two… Don’t even think about going anywhere.”

Tom groaned as he pulled out another cigarette, shooting a glare of hatred at his brother-in-law, who beamed proudly at Harry.

 

 

(c) 2014, All Rights Reserved

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Collars

29 Dec
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

Police Chief Collars stared at the paper. What kind of crap was this. And he was supposed to send someone out to check? Regardless it looked like he had little choice. It was trivia, but on the off chance, if he didn’t handle it by the book it could bite him bad.

Collars had a habit of wearing a white shirt open at the neck and black pants held up with black suspenders. His black hair was showing specks of grey and his mouth was showing signs of permanent down turns at the corners of the lips. He was overweight but had plenty of natural muscle to compensate for any loss. He could still run and still tackle when he needed too, but fortunately the days when he needed to were falling behind him.

Collars snorted.

More incompetence. Total lack of understanding they were trying to run a police force here. Trying to get a job done.

Collars was sick of incompetence. Incompetence from the rule makers. Incompetence from above. Incompetence from his own staff. He was especially sick of Morgan. A candy rich kid who had way too many connections in all the wrong places.

Now his last partner had gotten hurt. Possibly permanently. Probably because of him.

Why had he become a cop in the first place? His mother had the money to send him to the top colleges anywhere. Yet he chose to become a cop. Not likely. That kid was after more than being the CEO of some big company. A lot more.

Collars became a cop because being raised in a marginally middle class neighborhood he saw crime and injustice first hand. Well, almost first hand. A few blocks away.

When it came time to choose a life for himself his parents couldn’t afford some fancy college but they could afford a decent trade school. A starry eyed kid at the time he didn’t want to be a diesel mechanic or phlebotomist so he chose cop. The choice had given him a good life and stood him well, although it took him years to adjust to the chomprimises and politics that dogged any attempt at real justice.

Not the Morgan kid though. He knew about politics. It still burned when Collars thought about the time he had taken Morgan with him and some others to do some routine patrol of an event the mayor was involved in.

Morgan was a raw recruit, barely on the job a week. Yet the mayor spotted him instantly, called him by his first name, shook hands with him, and congratulated him on doing a great job and on getting his new uniform — before he even recognized Collars existed. And then only with standard formal acknowledgement.

Collars tapped the paper. Yeah, he’d give it to him to do. Hopefully he would screw it up so bad Collars be rid of him.

After the mayor incident Collars did some serious checking.

Morgan, through his mother, knew every person in town “worth knowing.” For a while Collars was baffled. He treated it like a case to solve. And solve it he did.

If you thought of the police job as a stepping stone, one to more power through political maneuvering, then it was simple. Morgan was after his job. Once there he and his power friends in the city could run things as they wished. The very fact Morgan had run interference with, and for, the Langlins and their nanny showed what would happen if he ever got power.

“Well,” thought Collars, “if he wants to climb the latter he may as well start on the bottom rung.” It was a crap assignment, give it to the crap cop with no partner.

 

 

 

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War By Other Means

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the Story within the Story

stillness of heart

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The Guilty Preacher Man

abandoned illustrations

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A tall women amazon model WordPress.com sit

Three Wise Guys

Best not to think about it

Mister G Kids

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Ray Ferrer - Emotion on Canvas

** OFFICIAL Site of Artist Ray Ferrer **

The Judy-Jodie and Kelli Memorial Blog

A great WordPress.com site

A Financial Life Coach

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Storyshucker

A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.

Dysfunctional Literacy

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