WALKABOUT - Taking a Mulligan (11-15)

 Walkabout

Taking a Mulligan

Wayne Baker writing as Austin Jett

11

Ty Hamilton

After thinking about it while finishing breakfast and on the way home, I felt I had a pretty good idea why Larry had called me in. They were looking for someone to take on the role of staff trainer. Most of the other officers in our company were half my age or younger, and I figured that, with my maturity, I was the logical choice. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take it on, though, what with all the extra hours I’d be working. But it would be mostly days, which would be better than third shift, and I expected the pay would be better as well. I had a figure that I was going to hold out for, but hoped Larry would make an offer first, just in case they were willing to pay me more than I was planning to ask.

The office of Sheepdog Security was located in a corporate suite on the fifth floor of a large office building on the outskirts of town. I arrived seven minutes early, in uniform, shoes polished, shirt and pants ironed with razor-sharp creases. I wanted to look my best. Over my shoulder, I carried my backpack with the video camera inside.

I knocked and let myself into the suite. “Hey, Carly.” I greeted the receptionist. I could see by her expression that she did not immediately recognize me. “I’m Ty,” I said. “Ty Hamilton. I’m here to see Larry Maxwell.”

“Oh. Yes,” she raised her eyebrows, and quickly glanced at the only other person in the room, one of our sales people whose name I couldn’t remember. I gave him a nod, then turned my attention back to Carly, who said, “Mr. Maxwell will be out in a moment. Make yourself comfortable Mr. . . . I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Hamilton,” I said. That was the thing about working night shift, especially at a remote location such as my post. No one knew you. For that matter, the only ones I sort of knew were my boss, Larry Maxwell, and my immediate supervisor, Jazi, (pronounced Yazzy) a petite Latina ex-Army MP in her mid-twenties who had swung by my post only once in the past four months while I was on duty.

I only remembered Carly because when I’d interviewed, she had been there and we’d chatted a bit before I went in. She looked enough like Carly Simon that I was able to make a connection somewhere in my brain which allowed me to remember her name. That, and she was hot. Guys always remember hot chicks.

Of course she was in her early twenties and when I’d mentioned to her during our chat that she resembled Carly Simon, she had no idea who I was referring to. Clearly, I had not made much of an impression on her. I took a seat and checked e-mail on my cellphone.

Halfway into my third e-mail, Larry Maxwell came out into the lobby. “Come on in, Ty.” To Carly, he said, “Tell Georgia that Ty is here.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “This shouldn’t take long, but if Harold Carter calls, transfer it over to me. I need to talk to him ASAP about covering a couple of shifts for us until we get someone permanent.”

12

Ty Hamilton

I walked into Larry Maxwell’s office, which was sparsely appointed, to say the least. His desk consisted of a folding table, like the kind the wrestlers on TV are always slamming one another into, and a high-back swivel chair on caster wheels. Other than that, there were only a couple of folding chairs and a few certificates on the wall. He motioned to a folding chair and said, “Georgia should be here in a—” before he could complete the sentence, she walked into the room. I stood, shook her hand, smiled and said hello. She smiled graciously, her eyes glancing from me to Larry, and back to me again.

Georgia Adams was the head of HR at Sheepdog Security, and the kind of woman you would never forget. She was tall—I guessed maybe six feet in her bare feet. In her heels, she was more like six-three or six-four. She wore a black leather skirt that was short enough to get attention but long enough not to raise eyebrows. A red silk blouse complimented her honey bronze complexion, fitting snugly enough to cause me to stare a bit longer than I should. There was just a hint of perfume that accompanied her. I can’t tell one fragrance from another, but I know I liked it. I had smelled it before, but couldn’t remember when.

It seemed only fitting to me that Georgia would be joining us. If I accepted the offer of the promotion, she would need to discuss the compensation package—salary, benefits, job description, et cetera. I liked the way I felt at that moment. Important to the growth of the company, a respected member of the team, recognized and appreciated. I felt myself smiling, for maybe the first time in months. Heading up the training department of a security company wasn’t quite up there with being an airline captain, but it was a position of prestige and authority. I was wrapped up in a warm and fuzzy moment. So much so that when Maxwell said, “There’s no sense beating around the bush, Ty. We are letting you go,” I jerked back as if hit in the head by a two-by-four, and came dangerously close to tipping over backward in my chair.

My jaw dropped. “What? . . .  Why?” I asked.

“I got a call from Bobby Lanter this morning,” Maxwell said. “He’s been hearing from the sheriff. They are tired of getting called out to his place of business for no good reason. They’ve got other calls to answer.”

“I’ve called them exactly twice,” I said. “Once for a gunshot.”

“Everyone out there in that part of the county owns at least three guns, Ty.”

“And the other was for an intruder,” I said, leaning back in my chair, extending my hands out, palms up. “What exactly did you hire me to do out there, Larry?”

“Deputy Smiley found nothing to indicate that there was an intruder anywhere on the property.”

“But—”

Maxwell cut me off with the ‘Talk to the hand’ gesture.. “There was a break-in at the pharmacy on the east side of town while a deputy was dealing with your call Saturday morning. The only other deputy on duty at that hour was at the scene of a fatal accident out near the county line. By the time anyone responded, the perps had already gotten away.”

“Smiley wouldn’t even let me show her where I saw the guy,” I said. “And oh, by the way, after she left, I heard a gunshot.”

“Oh, really?” Maxwell shook his head and sighed. “Another gunshot, Ty?” He made a show of looking through my duty log. “I don’t see anything here about a gunshot, or reporting it to the Sheriff’s Department.”

“I didn’t call it in because I knew they wouldn’t take it seriously,” I said. “So I decided to do some looking around on my own.”

Maxwell sighed heavily. “What did you do, Ty?”

“I went back to where I’d seen the man. I shined my flashlight around, and found a few drops of blood.”

“Out in the country. Lots of animals hunting one another for food. Could have been a bobcat killed a rabbit. Rabbits bleed too, you know.”

He was patronizing me. I didn’t appreciate it, but I stayed calm, refusing to let him get under my skin. “I followed a blood trail,” I said. “Not a lot, just a few drops here and there, all the way to the perimeter fence. There was some material, like from clothing, on the barbed wire. And the blood trail went further, back into the field behind the crematory.”

Maxwell leaned forward, placed his right elbow on the table and stroked his chin. “You’re telling me you abandoned your post? That you trespassed on the property next door?”

“I was following a blood trail, Larry,” I said. “And I found something more. A video camera. I think the Sheriff should have a look at it.”

“I didn’t see any of this in your activity report.” He thumped it twice with his middle and forefinger for emphasis.

“I didn’t think anyone would take it seriously.”

“And you would be correct in your thinking.” Maxwell leaned back in his chair. “So you figured you would do a little investigating on your own, is that it?”

I could feel my face flushing crimson, sweat beading on my forehead. I was not going to be the head of training. I was not going to be a security officer for Sheepdog. I was done, and I knew it. With my last ounce of defiance, I said, “So you’re firing me because the Sheriff’s department is understaffed?”

“You know they’re covering for the city now, too, what with all the budget cuts last year.” Maxwell waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not going to debate the issue, Ty. You’re fired!”

There was no point in showing him the video camera. He had no interest in it. I sat there, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead, listening numbly as Georgia Adams explained the severance package—something highly unusual, she told me, for a part-time employee, but they wanted to “do right” by me. I nodded a lot, staring out the window, thinking how humiliating this was, being fired from a dead-end job that only paid a few cents an hour over minimum wage. When she finished, I stood, shook hands with them and mumbled something to the effect of “no hard feelings,” then started to leave.

“Um, Ty?” Georgia said, “We need your employee badge and your uniform.

“Okay,” I nodded. I removed my badge, which was clipped to my shirt pocket, and placed it with care on Maxwell’s table. I was wearing my uniform, so there was an awkward moment as I weighed my options.

Georgia read my mind. “You can drop it off tomorrow.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I just nodded.

13

Page County Sheriff Mike Bridges parked his cruiser in the driveway. Two large dogs raced up to meet him, stopping only a few feet away, barking ferociously. Instinctively, the sheriff placed a hand on his .40 caliber Glock.

“Bandit! Oscar!” the woman standing on the porch shouted. “Shut up!” The two mongrels momentarily looked away from the sheriff to their owner, then resumed barking.

“Easy there,” Sheriff Bridges spoke to the dogs in a calm, steady voice. He had dealt with this sort of thing many times during his twenty-three years in law enforcement. Don’t look a threatening dog in the eye. Don’t smile, or they will think you are baring your teeth, challenging them. Step back slowly, in a relaxed manner. And never, ever, turn your back to them. Every now and then, even if you followed all these guidelines, you still had to shoot one.

The woman hustled down the porch steps to the water spigot on the side of her house, grabbed the nozzle of the garden hose and began spraying the dogs. Bandit and Oscar decided their owner had things under control and it was time for them to move on. “Sorry about that, Mikey,” the woman said.

The sheriff brought his hand away from his duty weapon.  “No problem, April,” he said. “I guess you don’t need a home security system with them around.”

“Nobody’s gonna sneak up on me, that’s for sure,” she said. “Thanks for coming all the way out here.”

“I need to get out of the office every now and then,” he said. And it was true. April Meyers, the sheriff’s sister, lived a good twenty minutes out of town, and the drive through the country always helped him clear his head.

“Dispatch said you told them it was important, but not an emergency. And that you’d only talk to me,” he said as April gave him a hug. He wrapped one arm around her, kissed the top of her head and sniffed. “You smell good. Glad to know you’re still off the cigarettes.”

“Six months now,” she said as they made their way up the steps. “Still want one now and then, but I know that I don’t dare. Like they say, ‘One’s too many, and ten thousand’s not nearly enough.” She held the screen door open for her brother and motioned him in. “I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee on if you’d care for a cup.”

The sheriff stepped into the kitchen, pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and nodded. “I’ll take you up on that.” His eyes were drawn to the photograph on the refrigerator as his sister went to the cupboard for a cup. Three smiling faces. April, her husband Raymond, and their daughter, Shelby. “How long’s it been?” he asked, “since Raymond passed?”

“Two years next Wednesday,” April said, setting the steaming cup on the table. “I still miss him.”

“I always liked him. He was a good man,” the sheriff said. “Took good care of you. And Shelby.”

April nodded. “Not every man would have wanted a ready-made family. He was her daddy from day one.” She looked at the picture, and sighed heavily. “Cancer doesn’t care how good you are. It just takes you because it can,” she said. “It’s on account of Raymond I gave up smoking. He was so worried that Shelby would be orphaned if I kept it up. Took me a while to do it, but I’m done with cigarettes for good.”

April placed a steaming cup on the table for him. “So tell me, how are your boys doing?”

“Okay, I guess,” he said. “Mike Junior is in the Coast Guard. Training to become a rescue swimmer. And Randy works for his father-in-law—He’s a contractor in Indianapolis—installing gutters on houses and commercial buildings. His wife’s a dental assistant.”

“You tell them hello for me. And if I ever hear that they come back to Page without looking up their aunt, they’ll be in more trouble than they can handle.”

“Okay, I’ll tell them,” he said, then sighed heavily. “Oh, hell, April. The truth is I don’t talk to either one of them all that much since I split with their mother.”

“Understandable.”

“It’s like they blame me for us breaking up.”

“Well, duh!” April said, smacking her older brother on the forehead. “Ya think?”

She had him there, and the sheriff had nothing to come back with. After a long moment, he said, “Am I here on family business, or police business, April?”

“A little of both.”

14

“You know how kids talk,” April began.

The sheriff nodded.

April sighed. “Half of what they say is half true. The rest is complete bullshit.”

“I find that’s true of most people,” he said. “Not just kids.”

“Well, I was taking a load of laundry down the hall to the utility room this morning, and as I went past Shelby’s door I could hear her talking on the phone. You know, to one of her friends?”

He nodded again. “And what did you hear that you were not supposed to hear?”

April sighed, looked out the window. “It’s probably nothing, Mike. But if there’s a chance that it’s true . . .”

Her brother waited. This wasn’t the time to press her. April was not a suspect under interrogation. She was under no obligation to tell him anything. She would tell him more if he let her do it in her own time.

“Mike, I think she may has seen something. Something really bad.”

15

Perry Winters had just returned from the cemetery and parked the hearse in its usual spot, next to the sidewalk that lead to his office at Winters-Snowden Funeral Home. He sat in the driver’s seat for a moment, looking straight ahead. Twenty-six years in the funeral business—half of which he had also served as county coroner—had conditioned him to dealing with death, but every now and then, it hit him hard. Like today. Laying to rest twin sisters, three years of age, victims of a fiery hit and run out on Round Barn Road. Their father had managed to get out of the car, but couldn’t get to the girls. He was still in critical condition with third degree burns and a bleak prognosis. Poor guy couldn’t even make it to the funeral, to say goodbye to his babies. Senseless.

A sheriff’s cruiser backed into the spot next to him. Winters got out of the hearse, offered his right hand. “Afternoon, Sheriff,”

Mike Bridges nodded, shook the coroner’s hand. “How you doin’ today, Perry?”

“I’ve had better days.”

“Carmichael twins?”

Winters nodded. “I hope you catch the son of a bitch, Mike.”

“We will,” Sheriff Bridges said. “Well, between me and you, I hope we will. We’ve got a couple of witnesses. And all the body shops are looking for anything matching the description coming in for body work on the right front. Hopefully somethin’ will turn up. These things take time.”

“I suppose so,” Winters nodded thoughtfully. “But that’s not what brought you here, is it?”

“No.” The sheriff shook his head.  “No, Perry, it isn’t. We need to talk, privately.”

“Come on in to my office.”

Winters led the way up the sidewalk to a door off to the side of the main entrance. He removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and made his way to the coffee pot that sat on a table along the wall.

“What can I do for you today, Mike?” Winters asked, as he poured coffee into his favorite cup. “Care for a cup?”

“No thanks. Already had my limit for the day,” Sheriff Bridges said. “We may have a problem, Perry.”

“What sort of problem?” Winters said, taking a seat in the swivel chair behind his hardwood desk. He invited the sheriff to sit across from him with a gesture. “Somebody wanting more money?” From time to time, the sheriff and the coroner had supplemented their incomes by taking advantage of the opportunities that fell into their laps during the performance of their sworn duties. It was seldom, if ever, legal. Almost always lucrative. Every now and then, it was necessary to pay certain associates in order to keep the wheels turning. Share the wealth, so to speak.

“No, nothing like that.”

Winters took a sip, made a bitter face, and then sat the cup off to the side, nearly out of reach. “David makes the worst coffee. He’s a damn good assistant funeral director, though. I’d have a hell of a time running this business without him. I’m thinking of offering him a partnership, so he won’t go somewhere else. Lord knows my boy Jimmy doesn’t want anything to do with running this business when I retire.” He took another sip, made another sour face. “Well, if it’s not money, what then?”

“It is a family thing.”

“Yours, or mine?”

“Both,” Sheriff Bridges said. “Your son. My niece.”

“My boy knock her up?” Winters shook his head. “That little son of a bitch! I told him once, I told him a thousand times, if you’re gonna do that, you gotta—”

“No, no. Nothing thing like that,” the sheriff waved both hands back and forth, cutting Winters off. “At least as far as I know.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Actually it’s more serious, Perry.”

“Mike, I’ve known you a long time. You’re not one to beat around the bush. Out with it.”

Sheriff Bridges stood up, walked to the window, peered out through the blinds, then crossed the room and opened the door to check the hallway. Satisfied that no one was around to overhear him, he said, “My niece, April’s girl, Shelby. . . she and your boy were out partying with some friends. The kind of friends that aren’t good for them, if you know what I mean.”

“And?”

“And they got into some booze. A little weed.”

“As kids will do.”

“As kids will do,” Sheriff Bridges agreed. “But then they picked up a couple of homeless guys. Paid them to fight. Your son got it on video.”

“Okay, not good,” Winters said.

“I had to lean heavy on Shelby,” Bridges said. “Made her see me not as her Uncle Mike, but as Sheriff Bridges. Made her see that she’d be better off telling me everything.”

“How’d that work out?”

“Oh, at first she thought she could lie her way out of it. But when you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you can smell bullshit a mile away. She eventually told me enough that I could start putting the pieces together.”

Winters removed his tie, undid the button on his shirt collar. “And what did she tell you?”

“The fight got out of control. One of the homeless guys got killed.”

“Jesus.”

“So instead of calling it in and giving us a chance to sort things out, they took matters into their own hands.” Bridges paused, rubbed his hand across his mouth. “In fact it was your son came up with the idea how to destroy the evidence, get rid of the body.”

Winters inhaled deeply, closed his eyes for a moment, then let it out slowly through his nose. “The crematory.”

Bridges nodded. “The crematory.”