Cody's Army (12 page)

Willie Bob nodded. “That’s what you always say, Sheriff.”

“Well then, Sheriff,” Hawkins went on. “I’m not going to beat around the bush any longer. I’m going to come straight to the
point. We’re having ourselves a dick measuring contest.”

“A
what?”
Braddock and Willie Bob replied together.

“You heard me right. The old leather swing, the peter, the hammer, the dong. We’re gambling on who’s got the biggest one.”

“Well now,” Braddock said, slowly. “I am a betting man, but I ain’t holding my dick out there to be measured—”

“Not yours, Sheriff. The prisoner’s. We’re measuring prisoners’ dicks. See, Sheriff Tywater got himself a boy in our lockup
over to Carrington County. Happened to get a look at that boy in the shower the other day, and whooee, talk about hung! The
sheriff never seen anything like it and, well, being as he’s a gambling man hisself, I reckon he figured he’d make some easy
money. He sent me over to make a wager of two hundred bucks that there ain’t a prisoner in your jail hung the way his is.
You game, Sheriff?”

Braddock looked as if he’d been stunned with a slaughterhouse hammer.

“Two hundred skins for the biggest dong?”

“Yep,” Hawkins nodded. “Like I said, it’s inspired by you. Word is you’ll bet on anything, and Sheriff Tywater was talking
about that—”

“But I don’t know Tywater.”

“Ah, but he knows you, Sheriff, or your reputation, I should say. Said it would do you proud; was your kind of game. Whatcha
think?”

“Do it, Sheriff,” Willie Bob urged. “That boy in back’s bound to have himself a well rope. They’s known for that, and he’s
one big sonofabitch.”

Braddock made up his mind and started smiling.

“Willie Bob, go get the coon. And keep your gun out, otherwise he just might tie you in a knot.”

“Yes sir, Sheriff,” Willie Bob nodded, and he scampered to the back.

A moment later, Rufe Murphy came through the door, hands on his head.

A yard behind him, his gun pointing at Rufe’s back, came Willie Bob.

Rufe saw Cody and Hawkins and almost smiled. Almost.

“Well, well,” Hawkins grinned, “if the contest was for ugly, this black motherfucker would win hands down.”

“Who these honkies?” Rufe growled, not missing a beat.

“No matter to you, boy,” Braddock snarled. “You gonna win me some money. Drop your pants.”

Murphy blinked.

“Say what?”

He looked at Cody.

Cody nodded very faintly, so faintly had Rufe not been looking for a sign, he wouldn’t have noticed it.

Rufe sighed. He unbuckled his trousers.

“You white breads sure are a fun-loving bunch.”

“Shorts, too,” Braddock ordered. “We’re going to measure your dick.”

“The hell you are, shit-for-brains.”

“It’s either that,” Braddock said, “or Willie Bob here is going to shoot it off.”

Rufe frowned at Hawkins and Cody.

They smiled back.

Rufe sighed again and lowered his shorts.

“Good godalmighty,” Braddock said, looking at Rufe’s tool. “To think something like that’s wasted on a spade. Guess that’s
what Ellie seen in you, huh, boy?”

“It didn’t hurt her feelings none,” Rufe conceded with a smile, and he placed his hands on top of his head again.

“Well, fellas,” Braddock invited, stepping back, “Measure away.”

“Uh-uh.” Hawkins shook his head. “You’ve got to do your own measuring. Them’s the rules. We just validate.”

Cody pulled a cloth measuring-tape from his jeans pocket and tossed it to Braddock. “There you are, Sheriff. I’ll get the
picture.” And he began adjusting the knobs and dials on the Pentax.

“Picture?”

“Of his thang,” Hawkins said. “Lot of money changing hands here, Sheriff, we can’t just have our say so that your prisoner’s
hung like a bull moose. We’ve got to have proof. Need a picture of the tape on the meat, so to speak.”

“Willie Bob)—” Braddock started.

“Nope,” Hawkins said. “Got to be you, Sheriff. Them’s Sheriff Tywater’s conditions on this little deal or it’s no go.”

“I don’t see what it matters who measures the damn thing,” Braddock whined, regarding Rufe’s principle male tendon as if it
were a snake that might leap up and bite him.

“But them’s the rules,” Willie Bob added hastily.

“You shut up,” Braddock snapped at his obviously relieved deputy.

“That’s right,” Hawkins said. “Them’s the rules. I didn’t make ’em. I’m just helping enforce this little bet, to make sure
it’s done right. I’m getting twenty bucks and a half day off to see it’s done the way it’s supposed to be.”

“I’m getting cold,” Murphy grumbled. “It gets small when it gets cold.”

Braddock sighed, then shook the measuring tape out.

“Oh, all right, but I sure don’t like it. I might have to touch it.”

“That is a problem,” Hawkins admitted.

Braddock circled Rufe like a shark, frowning at the instrument of the contest. Finally, he settled on his knees, slightly
to the side of Rufe, and measured.

“Godalmighty,” he marveled, “it…it ain’t human.”

“Ought to see me when I’m happy,” Rufe grinned.

Cody snapped a series of pictures with the Pentax, moving from left to right to get them.

“You, uh, getting it?” Braddock asked.

“Oh yeah,” Cody said. “Guess that about does it, Sheriff.”

Braddock handed Cody back the tape measure.

“When’ll I know if I’ve won?”

“We’ll get back to you,” Hawkins promised. “And soon.”

“Hey,” Rufe called, “what about me?”

Cody smiled at him.

“Well, prisoner, if I were you, I’d start by pulling my pants up.”

Two hours later, Cody and Hawkins returned, Caine accompanying them this time. Cody had a large manila envelope under his
arm. When they came into the sheriff’s office, Braddock turned and looked over his shoulder at them. He was nailing a framed
photograph on the wall. It was a photo of him holding an extremely large catfish on a chain. Braddock was smiling, the catfish
wasn’t.

Deputy Willie Bob was nowhere in sight.

“Well now,” said Braddock. “Back already. Who’s your friend?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Cody said. He took the envelope from under his arm, opened it and tossed some enlarged photographs on the
sheriff’s desk. “That photo service in town here, it does prints just as fast as they say. Faster when you pay them a little
extra.”

Braddock looked confused. He picked up one of the photos.

It showed him down on his knees beside Rufe. Rufe had his hands on his head and was smiling in a satisfied way. From the angle
the photograph had been taken, you couldn’t see the measuring tape. In fact, it looked as if Braddock were…

“My God!” Braddock exclaimed. “You boys can’t use these! You can’t see the tape!”

“No shit,” Hawkeye smiled.

Braddock colored as realization seeped into him. He snatched the pictures up, tore them to pieces furiously.

“You missed a piece,” Hawkeye offered, handing Braddock a large corner of one snapshot that had drifted to the edge of the
desk.

Braddock tore that up too.

“You dumb asshole,” said Hawkeye, still smiling. “You think those are the only copies we’ve got?”

Braddock eyed the three of them evenly.

“There wasn’t no contest, was there? You just wanted to get them pictures, to make it look like—”

He couldn’t finish.

Hawkins finished for him.

“Like you’re tooting Rufe’s horn, Sheriff. Yeah, that is what it looks like, don’t it?”

“You…you bastards know that nigger, don’t you?”

“Bingo,” said Cody. “And I’d forget putting your hand on that gun, Sheriff. We might be forced to hurt you. We don’t want
to do that.”

“These pictures are going to hurt you bad enough,” Caine put in, “if you don’t listen to reason.”

“I got no money,” Braddock told them. “I ain’t got nothing you’d want.”

“You’ve got one thing we want,” Cody corrected. “You’ve got Rufe Murphy. 1 want you to let him go.”

“But I can’t do that! Man’s in here on grand theft auto.”

“He didn’t steal a thing and you know it,” Caine countered. “We know about the mayor’s wife, mate, and we know that’s why
Rufe’s in this pigsty you call a jail.”

“But 1 can’t just let him go!”

“Let me outline this for you,” Cody said. “We’ve given copies of these pictures to some people here in town. And we’ve told
them if anything happens to us, or Rufe, they send copies to certain individuals. People see these, and…you figure it, Sheriff.”

“Dick-honking sheriffs are frowned upon highly,” Hawkins offered, his smile right in place.

“You goddamn sonofabitches,” Braddock snarled without moving from behind his desk.

“Three of the biggest,” Caine agreed.

“Now,” Cody said, “here’s what you do, Sheriff. You go back there and bring Rufe out. Then you’ll just have to do something
about that grand theft auto stuff. Drop it. Say it was a mistake.”

“The mayor—” Braddock started.

“The mayor wouldn’t want those pictures flashed around either,” Cody said. “Could prove to be extremely embarrassing for your
town, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, Sheriff,” Hawkins said, “If you’re going to play the skin flute, you’re going to have to learn not to have pictures
taken of you doing it. Not smart at all.”

Braddock’s mouth opened and closed a few times but nothing came out, as if the words were too thick and had lodged in his
throat.

“You know,” Hawkins continued easily, “we could send you one of these framed and you could put it up there next to your fish
picture. Be kind of nice, I think, you showing how you caught a couple of big ones.”

“I ought to blow your heads off,” Braddock hissed.

“You do,” Cody said, “and those pictures get sent.”

“Besides, my good man,” Caine interjected, “it would be to your considerable disadvantage to try. We’d be forced to cripple
you.”

“At the very least,” Hawkeye added.

“Enough.” All the humor had gone out of Cody’s voice. “You go back there and get Rufe. I’d like it best if you’d put that
revolver on the desk before you do. If you don’t want to do that I’ll take it away from you.”

Braddock eyed the three of them, not seeing a gun among them, but there was something about the way they stood, the confidence
they radiated. Slowly, he placed his service revolver on the desk.

“Good man,” Cody nodded. “Now bring Rufe out.”

Braddock opened a desk drawer, slowly, and got out a ring of keys. He went to the back, returning with Rufe Murphy.

The huge black man looked very happy.

“Howdy, boys.” He moved quickly away from Braddock to stand by his friends from ten years ago, then said, “Sheriff, baby,
looks like you’ve just had your ass stung, but don’t feel too bad. It was done by the best.”

Braddock’s cheeks were hopping about as if infested with jumping beans, but he didn’t say anything.

“And remember,” Cody said. “Clean slate for Rufe here. And you try and stop us, push this matter in any way, your wife gets
a copy, the mayor gets a copy, just about everybody gets a copy. Got it?”

Braddock nodded, glowering.

“Let’s hear it,” Cody snapped.

“Got it,” the sheriff said, biting off the words.

“Bye now,” Rufe said.

They turned to go out the door, Cody watching Braddock, as first Caine, then Hawkeye, left the building. Rufe was almost out,
then stopped and turned to Cody as if he had been fighting a battle inside himself and just lost.

“Sorry, Sarge,” he told Cody, “but I gots to.”

And he crossed over quickly, before Braddock could scuttle out of the way, and delivered a backhand slap that was hard enough
to lift the sheriff off his feet and pitch him back over his desk, to where he balled up in an unmoving, loudly snoring heap
in the corner.

“Damn, that felt good,” Rufe sighed.

He and Cody got out of there.

They drove by the park in the town square on their way out of town, and Cody parked idling at the curb at Hawkeye’s request.

Hawkeye took a package off the car seat, got out, and went up to the bench where Old Joe—as usual—was seated.

The oldtimer looked up.

“Fifty bucks again?” he asked hopefully.

“Something better,” Hawkeye chuckled, opening the package. He took out a framed, glassed picture of Sheriff Braddock and Rufe,
Rufe’s head having been strategically scissored out of the picture. “Keep this for insurance, pard. Never know when you might
need it.”

Old Joe looked over the photograph and laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench.

“Goddamn, boy, you got him, didn’t you? You got him good.”

“Yep,” Hawkins said. “You take care, Old Joe.”

“I will,” the oldtimer promised between laughs.

Hawkins shook hands with the old man and went back to the car, smiling all the way.

Cody slipped the car into gear and drove them out of town and no one tried to stop them.

After several miles Cody said, “Rufe, I’ve got a proposition for you…”

EIGHT

C
aptain Tom Ward completed the shutdown procedure.