Patience County War (Madeleine Toche Series) (14 page)

“He’s washing dishes at the Fish ‘n Feet over in Jackson,” Lisa called from her desk.

“The Fish n Feet?” Taylor Marshall said. He was Sam’s new deputy, fresh out of the military and law Enforcement College.

“It’s really Bob’s Surf ‘n Turf, but about twenty-five years ago, some mobsters dumped some other mobster’s feet off in the dumpster behind the restaurant. The name kind of stuck. Fish isn’t bad, couldn’t tell you about the feet,” Sam said.

“That’s technically out of our jurisdiction, Sheriff,” Taylor said.

“You know, I hate that word. If some clowns are moving meth in Patience, I don’t care where they land. You know hot pursuit,” Sam smiled.

“How’s that, Sheriff?” Taylor cautiously said. He knew plenty about command structure and when to tread lightly.

“When Henry sees me coming there’ll be hot pursuit alright. I warned the puke. So what does he do? He sets up shop just inside the next county, sells pot so the cops really don’t give a shit. You try to be nice and it never fails. Maybe my message wasn’t sincere enough before. I’ll have to be more direct.”

Henry the Head Walker stood in the dumpster enclosure out back behind the restaurant, smoking a roach and a cigarette simultaneously. He wasn’t doing much to hide it. He could have been an escaped convict for all his employer cared, as long as the dishes got done and he kept up.

“Oh Henry,” Sam called from the other side of the dumpster like a mother calling her kid in for dinner.

“Shit,” Henry hissed and tossed the smoldering roach into his mouth and almost immediately starting to cough and choke.

“Let me know when the fire’s out. Take your time,” Sam said sticking his head in between the swinging doors that allowed access for dumping grease and garbage.

“Why are you harassing me? I’m not doing anything wrong!” Henry wailed.

“That’s not what a couple of teens over in Patience tell me. Graduated to meth, prison time for Henry,” Sam said sliding through the doors.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheriff.”

Sam lifted the lid on a fifty five gallon drum of kitchen grease. “Yummy. Ever slip and accidentally dunk your head into the grease here.”

“Don’t you touch me, Sheriff. There’s a camera pointing over at the dumpster here,” Henry blurted out nervously.

“Right now that camera is getting a lovely shot of Nathan’s back. Have you ever stood behind him in a line? It’s like your whole world becomes Nathan’s stinking back. You can’t see around him, under him, over him. He’s a damn billboard, and that’s what the camera sees.”

“Fuck you.”

The very next second Henry knew he had made a mistake. Sam took his head and plunged it into the drum. Henry struggled furiously, but he felt like a mouse under a cat’s paw. He was near panic. Panic arrived in the form of the song Sam started to sing.

“Hold the pickle; hold the lettuce, special orders don’t upset us…”

Sam yanked Henry’s head out of the grease. “You better not get any on my clothes boy!”

“Okay! Okay!”

Sam lifted the lid on the dumpster and pulled out some wadded up towels and napkins so the kid could at least wipe the grime from his eyes.

“You could have killed me!”

“I saved you. You passed out from that dope in your system and were unlucky enough to fall into the grease barrel. They’ll make me a hero, marching bands, girls throwing themselves at my feet!”

The kid stood there with his mouth open, watching Sam gesticulate, spreading his arms like he was receiving an Academy Award. That was all he needed to see.

“I got it from a Mexican guy who came into the restaurant, just a little to try. I gave it to those girls. I was hoping for a little action,” Henry said mournfully.

“I didn’t hear that, Henry. Once you’re out of high school the buffet is closed. You guys are all the same. You drive the same beater Camaro, go to the same high school parties and try to hustle sophomores. You’re supposed to leave and go see the world.”

“You did, and you came back.”

“I just didn’t like what I saw. Besides, I have to keep the world safe from meth boys like you.”

“Now what, Sheriff?” Henry said miserably.

“I need to meet Pancho Villa.”

“Who?”

“Your Mexican friend,” Sam said.

“His name isn’t Pancho.”

Sam shook his head. “Pancho Villa was a Mexican bandit and freedom fighter. Just trying to lighten the mood for you a bit, no? No comprendo?”

“He told me he’d have more for me next Friday after my shift, said more was coming in.”

“Time?” Sam demanded.

“After nine,” Henry said.

“I’ll be here. Nathan too, we’ll sit out on the new patio. It’s better for Nathan to sit outside, puts some people off.”

“Mostly jealous husbands and boyfriends when their women respond to my royal bearing,” Nathan rumbled.

“Either that or the bone yard you create around your table,” Sam suggested.

Henry looked past Sam at Nathan. That’s when he noticed the enormous spear Nathan had in his hand.

“Now Henry, you tell anyone about our discussion and you’ll be lucky to survive arrest. I’ll put you in prison and tell your cell mate that you’re an informer and a child molester.”

“I’m no child molester.”

“I know, but so what?” Sam said.

Henry was done. “Whatever you say Sheriff,” he said, defeated.

“Good man. Now get yourself cleaned up, and pull that French fry from behind your ear. You’re part of a team here, at the Feet. Show some damn pride.” Somewhere along the line Sam had shifted into his George C. Scott, Patton impression. Nathan had started to dance, humming the Burger King jingle. Henry fled back into the restaurant.

“Fine young man, fine young man,” Sam said sagely as they wandered over to the squad.

B
ehind a pile of bones, Nathan chewed methodically. Sam and John had finished their meals, and sat sipping coffee and watching. The sight never got old. While the two of them were splattered and smeared, and had worn old shirts to dinner, Nathan remained spotless. The sauce never had a chance.

It’s getting close to nine. Remember, we’re here to work,” John said looking at his watch.

“That’s why we’re not drinking beer, Dad,” Sam said.

“That water you Americans call beer,” Nathan laughed.

“I like my beer to only have been in my mouth and nobody else’s,” Sam answered, referring to the Masai traditional brew, where the grain was pre-chewed by the tribe’s women to start the fermentation process.

Nathan pushed aside his plate at last. “Alright, let’s go over the plan.”

“Dad, you just leave and hang back and watch out backs. Please, nothing heavy, even if things get bad.”

“This is just a snatch job, right? As I see it, the guy we grab will probably only have a little meth, but some info we need,” John said pretending not to hear Sam’s request.

“Yes sir, but things seem to get hairy fast when meth is involved. I saw a few bad things in Detroit. These guys on it get dementia, they believe everyone is a cop and out to get them.” Sam didn’t have to mention that it had been a drug related bust that had nearly killed him.

“We’ll all be on our toes, Sam,” Nathan said. He had gone into his warrior mode and Sam saw it right away. There would be no more goofing around. It happened every time Sam referred to his Detroit days. It had been Nathan’s influence as much as anyone’s that had brought him home. He’d gone to the hospital in Detroit the night Sam was shot. The night Sam was supposed to die. The night John Trunce threatened to kill the priest who had come to give Sam’s last rites if he didn’t leave. When Sam pulled through, Nathan explained the misery that John had gone through and told him that if he was a man he would realize that finding oneself had nothing to do with where you were geographically, and that if he insisted on dying to save people, they should at least be people he loved and who loved him. John had been so grief-stricken that many of his friends, few of whom knew Sam, had come to visit him at the hospital.

Nathan asked Sam if he didn’t want that kind of devotion from at least one man other than he. Nathan never had any problems expressing to Sam how he felt. They were warrior brothers, and those weren’t just words, not to the Masai.

“You are my brother, Nathan,” Sam said, as he clasped Nathan on the shoulder.

“You are Masai Sam.”

“Remember your training, men,” John said.

“Let’s go to work,” Sam said.

Without any further discussion, Nathan found a dark spot and Sam blended into the shadows by the dumpster. Henry had already been instructed to come out and walk over to the vehicle that his supplier was driving. Before the meal, Sam had met with Henry, who told him that his supplier would be driving a nondescript blue sedan, the type of car that wouldn’t attract attention.

After a few minutes, Henry came out the back door of the restaurant and slung a bag of trash into the dumpster. Sam saw a blue, four door Ford pull into the parking lot. Henry walked over to the driver’s side door. Sam watched closely as Henry exchanged a few words with the driver, who tossed a crumpled fast food bag in the direction of the dumpster. Henry
walked over to the bag, picked it up and wedged it under the dumpster lid. The driver put the vehicle into gear and suddenly his rear end was lifted into the air.

“Howdy amigos! Commo estas?” Sam said, leaning against the car and pointing a .9 mm pistol inside.

“Nice night for a drug delivery,” Nathan bellowed.

“We don’t have any drugs, Jeffe,” the driver claimed.

“No drugs, Nathan,” Sam said.

“Keys, please, and put it in park,” Sam said. It was then that the two men noticed that Sam’s gun had a silencer screwed into the end. That caught their attention. Few cops carried silenced weapons. In their experience, they were only carried by killers.

“Drugs?” Sam said.

“No Drugs,” the passenger said.

“Nathan.”

With what seemed to take no more effort than shrugging, Nathan simply rolled the car over, causing surprising little sound.

“Shit, shit,” the driver said. “The only drugs were in that bag, man,” he said pointing to the bag Henry had pushed into the garbage can.

“Well you better climb on out. If one of you makes any kind of move, I’ll shoot you,” Sam said, lifting his badge out from under his shirt.

“Don’t make us go out there man, it’ll be bad,” the passenger said. The men seemed spooked and nervous.

By this time Nathan had walked around to the passenger side, reached in, and yanked the passenger out by his right arm. Sam stuck the silencer in the driver’s ear as he was crawling out.

“I’m coming, don’t shoot.”

Sam swiftly patted the guy down and had him lie on the ground. He looked over to see Nathan holding the passenger by one ankle and shaking him upside down, while he frisked him with his other hand. Change, a spare clip, a comb, lint, everything was spilling out of the terrified guy’s pockets. Nathan found a small automatic. He dropped the guy mostly on his shoulders and put his enormous bare foot in the small of his back. Both men were glancing around wildly.

“These guys are spooked. Let’s get over to the squad.” As Sam spoke he heard a door slide open and the action of an automatic weapon being engaged.

“Cover!” Sam yelled as he dove in the direction of a garbage can. Nathan dove in the other direction, rolling over the bottom of the car. Their immediate action saved them both, as at least two full on automatic weapons sprayed the area where they had been standing. The two drug dealers didn’t react as quickly and were both hit numerous times as they tried to scramble off the pavement.

Both Sam and Nathan returned fire, as a white van with its side door open sped past, slammed on its brakes, and turned for another pass.

Sam and Nathan were still exposed, and without any further thought, Nathan ran over and picked Sam up, threw him over his shoulder, and ran.

John had seen the exchange from his vantage point. He watched in awe as Nathan scooped up his son and ran from the parking lot towards a hill covered with oaks and maples. It was like watching a big cat chasing down its prey. Nathan moved with alarming speed, hit the hill, and actually accelerated up the slope. The only other person John had ever seen accelerate from a dead run was Carl Lewis, in the hundred meters. Nathan could have taken Carl that night, carrying Sam, while being shot at. The soldier John Trunce acted while the man John Trunce took in the scene. Without hesitation, he flipped up the back seat of his jeep, took out a cylindrical object and sighted in on the van. Just as the van spun around in front of a corn field a short distance down the road from the access road to the restaurant, he fired. A rocket streamed out of the weapon and slammed into the side of the van and detonated. The van exploded into tiny pieces and rained down onto the corn field. John calmly packed the weapon back into its compartment, just as Nathan ran up, dropped Sam into the front seat and jumped in the back himself. John immediately turned the jeep uphill, away from the road, and took off.