| General Fiction posted November 2, 2010 | Chapters: |
...9 10 -11- 12... 
|
  |
Day 2 is just beginning
A chapter in the book Redemption
Day 2
by bhogg
Background: Dax Connor rescued Lael Jackson from an attempted rape, subduing the two assailants, who were later found dead. Dax has been charged to stay in town until the investigation in complete. Lael has invited him to stay with her mom and herself. Dax inadvertently finds himself dropped right in the middle of a complicated drug conspiracy. Characters are listed in author notes.
From the Last Chapter: Terry and Stan crouched and sprinted to the back door, handguns out. They arrived at the back double doors. Stan was taking a moment to catch his breath. Terry wasn't even breathing hard.
"Alright, Terry, here we go." Stan shoved the door open and bounded into the room. All of a sudden, he felt a hand grab the back of his jacket. With a great deal of force, he was jerked off his feet, backward through the double doors and out over the back concrete dock. Before he even had time to think, there was a loud explosion, followed quickly by an even bigger explosion and fireball. Stan found himself groggy, dazed, and hard of hearing. Oddly enough, he was lying on top of Terry on the ground outside and below the loading dock. He heard Terry groan.
*************************************************
The Sheriff's office was tobacco free. A lot of good it did. The room reeked of smoke from over 60 years of cigarettes, cigars, pipes, chew and everything in between. Sheriff, Alva Bailey, sat in his leather judge's chair, arms on the arm rests and a gut that almost made it impossible to pull his chair close. The big wooden desk was covered with burn marks and rings from a thousand coffee cups. The cherry wood Regulator Clock on the wall was lending its repetitive cadence to the otherwise silent room. Bailey wondered how he sat in the same room with the clock for 20 years and never heard it. This morning, it was annoying in its presence. As he sat there, he wondered, what the hell is happening to me?
As in many Southern towns, the position of Sheriff was an elected one. Bailey sat there thinking, even that new guy, Terry Bunn has more formal training than I do. Bunn had two years of college, directed toward law enforcement and had to take the State mandated training. Alva was required to take some courses and go to some conventions, but it galled him to think that his training was probably the least in the entire department. At least I've been reelected five times. Who cares that my original background was dairy farmer?
Alva pulled his service revolver out and placed it on top of his desk. It's strange that he and one of his senior officers, Stanley Tate, were the only two in the department who had not chosen the new Glock nine millimeter automatic. I guess two old farts are just used to the tried and true. Alva lifted the pistol off the desk and bounced its heft in his hand. The handle was of wood, the pistol and barreling were blued steel. He thought, that frigging Glock is like a toy from Mattel. The damn thing isn't even all metal.
Alva was in the office because he had picked up on the scanner in his home that a two car operation was going on in the warehouse district. It was unbelievable to him that he hadn't been called. In the old days, people didn't even fart in public without him being notified. Now there was an operation going on involving two cars and four of his officers and he didn't even know what was going on. What the hell, I know why. They don't trust me anymore.
Bailey's wife Loretta had been diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer about 18 months ago. She had always been the picture of health, not so much as a headache. This was something they just couldn't control. The local docs and the ones in Atlanta had basically given up. When the recommendation of M.D. Anderson in Houston came up, he jumped on it. The insurance was a problem, because the treatment was supposedly experimental. Paul Boudreaux approached him with an offer to help him pay for the treatment. What could be wrong with that? The County wasn't doing anything. He knew Boudreaux primarily through the Chamber of Commerce. After all, he owned the local hardware store and was part owner of a car dealership. Alva took the money. It was for Loretta. Deep down, he knew that Boudreaux was more than a local business man. He was a crook and was selling narcotics. After the money, the requests seemed innocuous. Not so much to do something illegal, just turn an eye. When Boudreaux asked him to get an eye witness to back off from assault and battery charges against two of Boudreaux's henchmen, he tried to draw the line. He started to relive the situation in his mind.
"Paul, the evidence is overwhelming against your two guys, Jake and Donny. They beat a guy up so bad that he was put in the hospital for eight days. He damn near died. There were four separate witnesses that put your guys on the scene. One, actually captured the assault on his cell phone. There's nothing I can do."
"Alva, maybe the guy will drop the charges."
"Why would he?"
"I don't know, maybe you could talk to him." Boudreaux passed a couple of pictures to Bailey. In them, it was very clear that a woman was photographed doing lines of cocaine off a table. Alva knew that the pictures were of the sister of the victim. "Maybe you could talk to him. I'm sure he wants to keep his sister out of trouble."
Bitter bile rose in Alva's throat. He knew he would talk to the guy, and he knew the charges would be dropped. He did, and they were.
Alva turned his service pistol in his hand one more time. He always marveled at the balance of this pistol. He rarely fired the pistol, but through routine and rote, cleaned it once per week. He thought, it would be so easy put the barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger. It's obvious that Loretta is going to die. She probably has no more than two months left. She doesn't know me. She doesn't know anyone. It might be best for everyone.
With hammer backward, he put the barrel of the pistol into his mouth. He could taste the RemOil® on his tongue. The oil had a very distinctive sweet solvent taste to it. Not all that unpleasant. Even though this was a double action pistol, Bailey pulled the hammer back. With an ironic grin, he thought, I wouldn't want to miss. He took a deep breath. With an old fashion ring, his cell phone trilled out. He put the gun down and picked up the phone and answered, "Bailey, here."
"Hey Alva. This is Stan. I'm over in the warehouse district with Nikki and the Bunn boys. We definitely have a situation here and we need your help. How long will it take you to get dressed and drive over?
"Well, Stan, I'm already dressed and in the station, so I should be there in about five minutes. Have you called Jimmy?"
"Yes sir. He was over at the Jackson place and is on his way over."
"Okay, I'll see all of you over there."
***********************************
Jimmy was getting up preparing to leave the Jackson home when his cell phone rang. He answered. "This is Dent."
Dax was looking at Jimmy as he took the call. From the body language, the concentrated looks and occasional short responses, he knew something was up.
Jimmy finished the call, snapping the phone back to his belt. "That was Stanley Tate. He and three other officers just responded to a report of gunshots in the warehouse district. When they got there, Stan suspected a meth lab. He spotted what he thought were two dead guys on the floor. When they rushed in, they apparently triggered an explosion."
Beth took in a sharp breath, putting her hand to the side of her face. "Was anyone hurt?"
"It didn't sound like it. Scott Bunn had a slight glass cut, which they treated right there. Terry claims his ribs hurt where Stan landed on him. I don't know the story there yet, but bottom line is that everyone seems okay. I've got to head over."
Turning to leave, Jimmy looked back at Dax. "Are you up for a ride? You don't have to come, but I could use an extra set of eyes."
"Sure, let me get my jacket."
Driving over, the two discussed what all happened the past 24 hours. Dax was once again struck with how capable Jimmy was. In his old line of work, he had occasion to work with local authorities, and this level of expertise was unusual.
"You know, Jimmy, everyone has tiptoed around talking about Sheriff Bailey. What's the story there?"
Jimmy paused before answering. "I don't know if you've ever lived in a small town before. Typically, you know everybody and everybody knows you. I've known Alva Bailey all my life. I think he has held that Sheriff's position for something like 20 years. He must be doing something right, or he wouldn't keep getting elected."
"I hear you, but I'm interested in what your gut tells you. Is he clean, or is he connected at the hip with Boudreaux and what's going on with drugs?"
Jimmy pulled in next to the warehouse. "Well, since the Sheriff has already arrived, you'll have a chance to see him in action. As I recall, your first encounter wasn't so friendly. Maybe you can decide for yourself."
Background: Dax Connor rescued Lael Jackson from an attempted rape, subduing the two assailants, who were later found dead. Dax has been charged to stay in town until the investigation in complete. Lael has invited him to stay with her mom and herself. Dax inadvertently finds himself dropped right in the middle of a complicated drug conspiracy. Characters are listed in author notes.
From the Last Chapter: Terry and Stan crouched and sprinted to the back door, handguns out. They arrived at the back double doors. Stan was taking a moment to catch his breath. Terry wasn't even breathing hard.
"Alright, Terry, here we go." Stan shoved the door open and bounded into the room. All of a sudden, he felt a hand grab the back of his jacket. With a great deal of force, he was jerked off his feet, backward through the double doors and out over the back concrete dock. Before he even had time to think, there was a loud explosion, followed quickly by an even bigger explosion and fireball. Stan found himself groggy, dazed, and hard of hearing. Oddly enough, he was lying on top of Terry on the ground outside and below the loading dock. He heard Terry groan.
*************************************************
The Sheriff's office was tobacco free. A lot of good it did. The room reeked of smoke from over 60 years of cigarettes, cigars, pipes, chew and everything in between. Sheriff, Alva Bailey, sat in his leather judge's chair, arms on the arm rests and a gut that almost made it impossible to pull his chair close. The big wooden desk was covered with burn marks and rings from a thousand coffee cups. The cherry wood Regulator Clock on the wall was lending its repetitive cadence to the otherwise silent room. Bailey wondered how he sat in the same room with the clock for 20 years and never heard it. This morning, it was annoying in its presence. As he sat there, he wondered, what the hell is happening to me?
As in many Southern towns, the position of Sheriff was an elected one. Bailey sat there thinking, even that new guy, Terry Bunn has more formal training than I do. Bunn had two years of college, directed toward law enforcement and had to take the State mandated training. Alva was required to take some courses and go to some conventions, but it galled him to think that his training was probably the least in the entire department. At least I've been reelected five times. Who cares that my original background was dairy farmer?
Alva pulled his service revolver out and placed it on top of his desk. It's strange that he and one of his senior officers, Stanley Tate, were the only two in the department who had not chosen the new Glock nine millimeter automatic. I guess two old farts are just used to the tried and true. Alva lifted the pistol off the desk and bounced its heft in his hand. The handle was of wood, the pistol and barreling were blued steel. He thought, that frigging Glock is like a toy from Mattel. The damn thing isn't even all metal.
Alva was in the office because he had picked up on the scanner in his home that a two car operation was going on in the warehouse district. It was unbelievable to him that he hadn't been called. In the old days, people didn't even fart in public without him being notified. Now there was an operation going on involving two cars and four of his officers and he didn't even know what was going on. What the hell, I know why. They don't trust me anymore.
Bailey's wife Loretta had been diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer about 18 months ago. She had always been the picture of health, not so much as a headache. This was something they just couldn't control. The local docs and the ones in Atlanta had basically given up. When the recommendation of M.D. Anderson in Houston came up, he jumped on it. The insurance was a problem, because the treatment was supposedly experimental. Paul Boudreaux approached him with an offer to help him pay for the treatment. What could be wrong with that? The County wasn't doing anything. He knew Boudreaux primarily through the Chamber of Commerce. After all, he owned the local hardware store and was part owner of a car dealership. Alva took the money. It was for Loretta. Deep down, he knew that Boudreaux was more than a local business man. He was a crook and was selling narcotics. After the money, the requests seemed innocuous. Not so much to do something illegal, just turn an eye. When Boudreaux asked him to get an eye witness to back off from assault and battery charges against two of Boudreaux's henchmen, he tried to draw the line. He started to relive the situation in his mind.
"Paul, the evidence is overwhelming against your two guys, Jake and Donny. They beat a guy up so bad that he was put in the hospital for eight days. He damn near died. There were four separate witnesses that put your guys on the scene. One, actually captured the assault on his cell phone. There's nothing I can do."
"Alva, maybe the guy will drop the charges."
"Why would he?"
"I don't know, maybe you could talk to him." Boudreaux passed a couple of pictures to Bailey. In them, it was very clear that a woman was photographed doing lines of cocaine off a table. Alva knew that the pictures were of the sister of the victim. "Maybe you could talk to him. I'm sure he wants to keep his sister out of trouble."
Bitter bile rose in Alva's throat. He knew he would talk to the guy, and he knew the charges would be dropped. He did, and they were.
Alva turned his service pistol in his hand one more time. He always marveled at the balance of this pistol. He rarely fired the pistol, but through routine and rote, cleaned it once per week. He thought, it would be so easy put the barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger. It's obvious that Loretta is going to die. She probably has no more than two months left. She doesn't know me. She doesn't know anyone. It might be best for everyone.
With hammer backward, he put the barrel of the pistol into his mouth. He could taste the RemOil® on his tongue. The oil had a very distinctive sweet solvent taste to it. Not all that unpleasant. Even though this was a double action pistol, Bailey pulled the hammer back. With an ironic grin, he thought, I wouldn't want to miss. He took a deep breath. With an old fashion ring, his cell phone trilled out. He put the gun down and picked up the phone and answered, "Bailey, here."
"Hey Alva. This is Stan. I'm over in the warehouse district with Nikki and the Bunn boys. We definitely have a situation here and we need your help. How long will it take you to get dressed and drive over?
"Well, Stan, I'm already dressed and in the station, so I should be there in about five minutes. Have you called Jimmy?"
"Yes sir. He was over at the Jackson place and is on his way over."
"Okay, I'll see all of you over there."
***********************************
Jimmy was getting up preparing to leave the Jackson home when his cell phone rang. He answered. "This is Dent."
Dax was looking at Jimmy as he took the call. From the body language, the concentrated looks and occasional short responses, he knew something was up.
Jimmy finished the call, snapping the phone back to his belt. "That was Stanley Tate. He and three other officers just responded to a report of gunshots in the warehouse district. When they got there, Stan suspected a meth lab. He spotted what he thought were two dead guys on the floor. When they rushed in, they apparently triggered an explosion."
Beth took in a sharp breath, putting her hand to the side of her face. "Was anyone hurt?"
"It didn't sound like it. Scott Bunn had a slight glass cut, which they treated right there. Terry claims his ribs hurt where Stan landed on him. I don't know the story there yet, but bottom line is that everyone seems okay. I've got to head over."
Turning to leave, Jimmy looked back at Dax. "Are you up for a ride? You don't have to come, but I could use an extra set of eyes."
"Sure, let me get my jacket."
Driving over, the two discussed what all happened the past 24 hours. Dax was once again struck with how capable Jimmy was. In his old line of work, he had occasion to work with local authorities, and this level of expertise was unusual.
"You know, Jimmy, everyone has tiptoed around talking about Sheriff Bailey. What's the story there?"
Jimmy paused before answering. "I don't know if you've ever lived in a small town before. Typically, you know everybody and everybody knows you. I've known Alva Bailey all my life. I think he has held that Sheriff's position for something like 20 years. He must be doing something right, or he wouldn't keep getting elected."
"I hear you, but I'm interested in what your gut tells you. Is he clean, or is he connected at the hip with Boudreaux and what's going on with drugs?"
Jimmy pulled in next to the warehouse. "Well, since the Sheriff has already arrived, you'll have a chance to see him in action. As I recall, your first encounter wasn't so friendly. Maybe you can decide for yourself."
From the Last Chapter: Terry and Stan crouched and sprinted to the back door, handguns out. They arrived at the back double doors. Stan was taking a moment to catch his breath. Terry wasn't even breathing hard.
"Alright, Terry, here we go." Stan shoved the door open and bounded into the room. All of a sudden, he felt a hand grab the back of his jacket. With a great deal of force, he was jerked off his feet, backward through the double doors and out over the back concrete dock. Before he even had time to think, there was a loud explosion, followed quickly by an even bigger explosion and fireball. Stan found himself groggy, dazed, and hard of hearing. Oddly enough, he was lying on top of Terry on the ground outside and below the loading dock. He heard Terry groan.
*************************************************
The Sheriff's office was tobacco free. A lot of good it did. The room reeked of smoke from over 60 years of cigarettes, cigars, pipes, chew and everything in between. Sheriff, Alva Bailey, sat in his leather judge's chair, arms on the arm rests and a gut that almost made it impossible to pull his chair close. The big wooden desk was covered with burn marks and rings from a thousand coffee cups. The cherry wood Regulator Clock on the wall was lending its repetitive cadence to the otherwise silent room. Bailey wondered how he sat in the same room with the clock for 20 years and never heard it. This morning, it was annoying in its presence. As he sat there, he wondered, what the hell is happening to me?
As in many Southern towns, the position of Sheriff was an elected one. Bailey sat there thinking, even that new guy, Terry Bunn has more formal training than I do. Bunn had two years of college, directed toward law enforcement and had to take the State mandated training. Alva was required to take some courses and go to some conventions, but it galled him to think that his training was probably the least in the entire department. At least I've been reelected five times. Who cares that my original background was dairy farmer?
Alva pulled his service revolver out and placed it on top of his desk. It's strange that he and one of his senior officers, Stanley Tate, were the only two in the department who had not chosen the new Glock nine millimeter automatic. I guess two old farts are just used to the tried and true. Alva lifted the pistol off the desk and bounced its heft in his hand. The handle was of wood, the pistol and barreling were blued steel. He thought, that frigging Glock is like a toy from Mattel. The damn thing isn't even all metal.
Alva was in the office because he had picked up on the scanner in his home that a two car operation was going on in the warehouse district. It was unbelievable to him that he hadn't been called. In the old days, people didn't even fart in public without him being notified. Now there was an operation going on involving two cars and four of his officers and he didn't even know what was going on. What the hell, I know why. They don't trust me anymore.
Bailey's wife Loretta had been diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer about 18 months ago. She had always been the picture of health, not so much as a headache. This was something they just couldn't control. The local docs and the ones in Atlanta had basically given up. When the recommendation of M.D. Anderson in Houston came up, he jumped on it. The insurance was a problem, because the treatment was supposedly experimental. Paul Boudreaux approached him with an offer to help him pay for the treatment. What could be wrong with that? The County wasn't doing anything. He knew Boudreaux primarily through the Chamber of Commerce. After all, he owned the local hardware store and was part owner of a car dealership. Alva took the money. It was for Loretta. Deep down, he knew that Boudreaux was more than a local business man. He was a crook and was selling narcotics. After the money, the requests seemed innocuous. Not so much to do something illegal, just turn an eye. When Boudreaux asked him to get an eye witness to back off from assault and battery charges against two of Boudreaux's henchmen, he tried to draw the line. He started to relive the situation in his mind.
"Paul, the evidence is overwhelming against your two guys, Jake and Donny. They beat a guy up so bad that he was put in the hospital for eight days. He damn near died. There were four separate witnesses that put your guys on the scene. One, actually captured the assault on his cell phone. There's nothing I can do."
"Alva, maybe the guy will drop the charges."
"Why would he?"
"I don't know, maybe you could talk to him." Boudreaux passed a couple of pictures to Bailey. In them, it was very clear that a woman was photographed doing lines of cocaine off a table. Alva knew that the pictures were of the sister of the victim. "Maybe you could talk to him. I'm sure he wants to keep his sister out of trouble."
Bitter bile rose in Alva's throat. He knew he would talk to the guy, and he knew the charges would be dropped. He did, and they were.
Alva turned his service pistol in his hand one more time. He always marveled at the balance of this pistol. He rarely fired the pistol, but through routine and rote, cleaned it once per week. He thought, it would be so easy put the barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger. It's obvious that Loretta is going to die. She probably has no more than two months left. She doesn't know me. She doesn't know anyone. It might be best for everyone.
With hammer backward, he put the barrel of the pistol into his mouth. He could taste the RemOil® on his tongue. The oil had a very distinctive sweet solvent taste to it. Not all that unpleasant. Even though this was a double action pistol, Bailey pulled the hammer back. With an ironic grin, he thought, I wouldn't want to miss. He took a deep breath. With an old fashion ring, his cell phone trilled out. He put the gun down and picked up the phone and answered, "Bailey, here."
"Hey Alva. This is Stan. I'm over in the warehouse district with Nikki and the Bunn boys. We definitely have a situation here and we need your help. How long will it take you to get dressed and drive over?
"Well, Stan, I'm already dressed and in the station, so I should be there in about five minutes. Have you called Jimmy?"
"Yes sir. He was over at the Jackson place and is on his way over."
"Okay, I'll see all of you over there."
***********************************
Jimmy was getting up preparing to leave the Jackson home when his cell phone rang. He answered. "This is Dent."
Dax was looking at Jimmy as he took the call. From the body language, the concentrated looks and occasional short responses, he knew something was up.
Jimmy finished the call, snapping the phone back to his belt. "That was Stanley Tate. He and three other officers just responded to a report of gunshots in the warehouse district. When they got there, Stan suspected a meth lab. He spotted what he thought were two dead guys on the floor. When they rushed in, they apparently triggered an explosion."
Beth took in a sharp breath, putting her hand to the side of her face. "Was anyone hurt?"
"It didn't sound like it. Scott Bunn had a slight glass cut, which they treated right there. Terry claims his ribs hurt where Stan landed on him. I don't know the story there yet, but bottom line is that everyone seems okay. I've got to head over."
Turning to leave, Jimmy looked back at Dax. "Are you up for a ride? You don't have to come, but I could use an extra set of eyes."
"Sure, let me get my jacket."
Driving over, the two discussed what all happened the past 24 hours. Dax was once again struck with how capable Jimmy was. In his old line of work, he had occasion to work with local authorities, and this level of expertise was unusual.
"You know, Jimmy, everyone has tiptoed around talking about Sheriff Bailey. What's the story there?"
Jimmy paused before answering. "I don't know if you've ever lived in a small town before. Typically, you know everybody and everybody knows you. I've known Alva Bailey all my life. I think he has held that Sheriff's position for something like 20 years. He must be doing something right, or he wouldn't keep getting elected."
"I hear you, but I'm interested in what your gut tells you. Is he clean, or is he connected at the hip with Boudreaux and what's going on with drugs?"
Jimmy pulled in next to the warehouse. "Well, since the Sheriff has already arrived, you'll have a chance to see him in action. As I recall, your first encounter wasn't so friendly. Maybe you can decide for yourself."
 Recognized |
|
Dax Connor - medically retired from Secret Service
Lael Jackson - 20 year old lady that Dax rescued
Jimmy Dent - Deputy
Sheriff Bailey - Sheriff with some questionable background
Stanley Tate - Deputy
Boudreaux - Local drug kingpin
Beth Jackson - Lael's mother
Alden Bishop - Boudreaux henchmen
Nikki James - Female sheriff deputy
Scott Bunn - deputy
Terry Bunn - deputy (no relation to Scott)
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Lael Jackson - 20 year old lady that Dax rescued
Jimmy Dent - Deputy
Sheriff Bailey - Sheriff with some questionable background
Stanley Tate - Deputy
Boudreaux - Local drug kingpin
Beth Jackson - Lael's mother
Alden Bishop - Boudreaux henchmen
Nikki James - Female sheriff deputy
Scott Bunn - deputy
Terry Bunn - deputy (no relation to Scott)
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