County Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was a particularly hot summer, hotter than any I’d come across in my twenty eight years on this planet. The kevlar vest under this class A nylon uniform made it all the worse. But, you never know if or when someone’s gonna draw on you.  

I was patrolling out in the boonies, because that’s my jurisdiction and made a traffic stop on a small Dodge Dakota pickup in the middle of nowhere It was like they wanted me to stop them, varying speeds, slight swerving, though you can’t really say that in court for a dirt road with no lines. 

We were on County Road 422 to be specific, a road that runs along the Missouri border and about forty miles from the nearest help of any kind. 

As I approached the driver’s window, I noticed the two occupants were quite large. Are there shoulders touching? “Good evening, gentlemen. I pulled you over because you have no tail lights.” 

The driver didn’t respond right away, only glaring at my name placard. “Bennett. D’you arrest a Ray Flint earlier today?” The man in the passenger side was also glaring at me now. 

Unsure why the two men were so interested in Ray Flint had me puzzled. This can’t be good. “Maybe.” I looked for a reaction from the men studying me, but they said nothing. Instead, they began exiting the vehicle, the suspension moaning and raising with every pound of relief. Both were at least four hundred pounds, nearly as wide as they were tall, but solid. Ah, hell. Well, alright two tons of fun, whatcha got?”

The driver made it to me first, punching me in the face, which I found amusing, since the man had enough body fat that it felt like the varsity linebacker hit me with a pillow. The false sense of security ended quickly, though, when the passenger jumped on top of me. All that weight made it hard to breathe, or move, or function in general. I’m being consumed by the blob; this is NOT how I’m going out! Squiggling like a worm, using the tremendous amount of sweat the larger man had accumulated to my advantage, I was able to get free and scramble backward. On my way, I got a couple kicks in and threw some dirt in their faces. When I stood up ready to throw down, my heart was racing, adrenaline maxed out. 

“Don’t taze me, I have a pacemaker.” The passenger plead as he struggled to his feet.

Seriously? “I bet you do, Asshat!”

“He really does.” The driver was out of breath and struggling to get to his feet as well, both men completely drenched in sweat. 

These dingleberries really just try to fight me with 17 seconds of stamina?

I rubbed my face and took a few steps, side to side, thinking, before turning my attention directly to the driver, “What the hell was that all about?” I always tried to be fair, getting all sides of a story before making any major choices.

Finally on his feet and resting heavily on the bed of the little truck, the man squeezed out between breaths, “Ray is our brother.” 

“Figures,” I shook my head and plopped myself against the hood of my patrol rig, crossing my arms like an angry parent in anticipation of an explanation.

The driver put his one free hand out, palm up, as if offering said explanation, “He said you wronged him, arrested him on some bullshit charges.”

“That son of a bitch harassed his ex wife for an entire day. Hell, he was circling the property on his four wheeler when I got there. I helped her get her stuff together for two hours until she left for her mom’s.” 

Shame consumed both of the men’s faces. They believed me. “He hurt her?”

“Not physically, but she was pretty scared. Said she hadn’t seen him in a while, and never so off, as she put it.”

“That makes more sense.” The driver spoke, but the passenger nodded. “Well, I’m Danny and this is Darryl.” He pointed to the passenger. “We’ll go peacefully now.” Both putting their hands out to be cuffed.

I considered everything that had just occurred; a guy harassed his ex-wife, someone these guys obviously care a great deal about. Then, their shithead brother lies to them, saying the cops arrested him on some BS charges. I’d be mad too. “Nah. Go home.” I turned toward my rig and opened the driver’s door. 

Danny Flint’s face looked as if he’d just been told the Earth was flat, “What?”

With a soft, yet firm voice, I said, “Go. Home. I’d do the same thing if I thought someone wronged my family.” 

The two men looked at me in shock, then at each other, then back at me. They spoke in unison, “Seriously?”

“Oh my gosh! YES! Go, before I change my mind. But, hey.” 

“Yeah?”

With both palms facing the two gargantuan men, I insisted, “Don’t tell anyone important. I don’t need my Captain on my ass about this.” 

With nods of approval, they agreed. “Deal,” they assured me as they climbed back in their truck.  

“One more question.” 

“What now?” 

Can they not take a hint? “Why you got that Arkansas toothpick on your hip? Don’t see much of that with law enforcement.” 

“Keepsake. Honestly, it’s none of your business, but it means a lot to me.” 

Danny nodded in a way that let me know he understood what sentiment was. The little truck moaned and groaned as they drove away. 

—

The two men left, and I considered my night so far, two fights, three brothers, and now my face hurts. I could use a pick-me-up.

It was time to get some coffee at the local cop shop in the middle of town, taking the long drive for some much needed head-clearing. 

I cleaned myself up as best I could before going in, using the patrol car’s dome light and the rearview mirror. Night shift has few perks. My forehead was slightly discolored and starting to swell. Maybe she won’t notice.

The clerk at the desk was a younger Indian woman with bright blue eyes. She normally didn't ask questions, but she and I had a fling here and there. I was fairly indifferent to her, but she looked good naked, so I tolerated her pretending to care. 

Turned to the side, hoping to hide the apparent swelling in my forehead, I greeted her, “Hey, Sherry.” 

Immediate concern flushed over her, “What happened to your face?” 

Here we go.

“I got hit by a dick,” I said, feeling confident in the explanation. “Coffee fresh?”

“Yeah, just made it,” she said dismissively. Returning to the issue at hand. “A dick?”

I chuckled, though I was slightly annoyed having to answer for my job. “Yeah, big floppy bastard. Thick too.” 

Her brow furled, lips following in similar fashion, and she leaned forward, “What?”

I took a deep breath, being obvious in how her concern annoyed me. “Sherry, don’t worry about it. I’ll be healed by tomorrow.” 

We both knew it wouldn’t be healed tomorrow, but we also knew it wouldn’t slow me down. 

We’d met at a house fire, before she worked here. I was the first one there, and she showed up right after being a volunteer fireman. She had turnouts with her in the truck, so we went in together. No one else came for twenty minutes. We pulled out a family of five, and the dog.

“You’re impossible.” She half smiled, taking notice of my annoyance.

“Am I though? I got hit, by a dick of sorts, so I didn’t lie. I don’t see the issue here.” In a desperate attempt to change the conversation and with much more important things in mind, I inquired, “Coming over when you get off?” 

She smiled. “That depends. You gonna be nicer to me?”

“When am I not nice?”

“I know you didn’t get hit by a dick.”

She won’t let it go. “Look, dick is another word for asshole, and he was a big, thick fat guy. I got hit by a thick dick.” 

“Whatever.” Sherry smiled and rolled her eyes.”

There it is. Gettin’ lucky tonight. Hmm. I got a dinner to go to tomorrow. I could use some company. 

“What’re you doing tomorrow night?”

“I’m off. So, nothin’?”

“Wanna go to a dinner thing with me?” I did my best to look inviting. 

“Is it for your School Resource Officer job?” 

“Yeah. We’re on summer break of course, but we have a banquet thing, and I have to go.” I brushed my collar and shined my fingernails on my shirt. “Apparently, I am winning an award.”

“Prestige!”

I’ma prestige nuts against your face later.

“I guess.” I’m not one for attention, but if I must. “Anyway, wanna go?”

“Yeah, ok. Do I need to wear anything special?” Her inquiry was pragmatic. 

“OOOOhhh, that lacey see through thing with the tassels.”

Sherry rolled her eyes, smiling. “I’ll find something nice to wear.” 

“Thank you. I’ll see you later.” 

I walked outside, got back in my vehicle and lit a cigarette. My radio crackled.  

“C16,” sounded through the cab. 

“Go ahead, County.”

“We have a domestic at the Hilltop Resort. One male, one female. Male aggressor. Caller says female has bruising.” 

“Active or just happened?” I chugged the very fresh, very hot coffee. AH! I didn’t need those taste buds anyway. 

“Caller says the male is outside, female in the room.” 

“10-4, 10-19.” I didn’t turn the lights or siren on. There was no point if there wasn’t anything active. If he’d hit her, she’d have marks; pretty simple investigation. 

When I arrived, I was met by the caller, and a whole bunch of lookie-lous. 

“Deputy! Over here!” 

Oh, really? I was gonna look in the woods. I rolled his eyes. It was probably a good thing it was dark. “Which room?”

“He’s still sitting outside. I think he’s drunk.” The man was overstimulated, struggling to keep himself calm. 

Great. There was a group of lookie-lous sitting on the back deck of this resort, which overlooked a good bit of untamed forest. 

I found the man in question sitting among them. He was not very big but definitely very drunk, slouching over one side of his chair. He was attempting to flick the ash off a cigarette and missed the ashtray by about a foot during each attempt. 

 “Hello, I’m Deputy Bennett with the Sheriff’s Office.”

“K.” The inebriated man sounded as though the chip on his shoulder was quite large. 

I tried. “A talker, I see. Is your lady friend available to speak?” 

The man glared at me like a jealous lover, attempting to posture, but not quite able. “The fuck you want with her?”

My inner church lady sass could no longer be contained. “Well, Mr. Pissypants, your neighbors here reported you two had an altercation, and I just need to make sure she’s ok.” I focused my tone to business now, making eye contact as I spoke. “If she’s good, we’re good. If she’s not, you and I are gonna have a whole other conversation. Capiche?”

The man looked me up and down. I was bigger than him. He mumbled something under his breath, making a defeated gesture toward the last door in the row of the resort. 

“Thanks,” I said, now back in my church lady voice. I walked to the door and knocked. “Sheriff’s Office.” 

A sheepish, depressed voice spoke through the door; the door did not open. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it, ma’am. I need you to open the door.” I can’t help but have empathy for victims, especially women and children. On the same token, I have a hardon for anyone that hurts them.

The door opened, the woman looking down with a shameful expression. Her face is bruised around the left eye. He must be right handed. Swelling, too. I wonder if I could fingerprints off of those bruises on her arms. He must’ve grabbed her hard to leave such perfect marks. This particular dickhead is going to jail. “Thank you, ma’am. What’s your name?” 

“Carissa,” was all that came out as she began to cry, trying desperately to hold it back.

“Hi, Carissa. My name is Sam Bennet.” I never know if it’s my place or not, but someone has to say it. “I’m going to take care of this for tonight. But guys like this don’t tend to stop, they tend to escalate each time. This never ends well in the long run.” 

She shook her head, still avoiding eye contact, her shame becoming awkward. 

Poor girl. “What’s his name?” 

“Byron Thompson,” a slight tinge of anger seasoned her words.

Byron? Seriously? There’s a joke in there, I just know it. 

I turned my attention back to the man slouched in the chair. “Byron Thompson, you’re under arrest for domestic battery. I’ma need you to stand up and turn around with your hands behind your back.” 

Mr. Thompson stood, sort of, bowing his chest out, right fist straight back, like a thug in a movie. “Fuck you!”

My inner church lady was now excited for the throw down that was coming. We doin’ the Lord’s work! “I don’t swing that way, but thanks for the offer.” I could barely hold in my excitement, like a dog waiting for his favorite toy. “Any further resistance will be seen as a sign of aggression, and I will act accordingly.” 

“Lemme spell it out for you: Fuuuuuck a youuuuu.” the man’s left index finger was now firmly pointing somewhere to Sam’s left, where there was no one.

He threw the ball. And that’s not how you spell. I smiled, grabbed the man by his armpits and turned him around before his inebriated brain could comprehend what was going on. He finally tried to throw an elbow behind him, so I took the opportunity and went for an armbar. It was perfect; the hand was behind the back, almost to the neck.

What I hadn’t noticed was that the deck railing was only about three feet high. As I pressed forward, trying to get the suspect to the ground, he fell right over the railing, tumbling down the steep hill full of trees and shrubbery. 

I stood frozen, watching in horror. My body was tingling in fear, like the time I got caught in sixth grade smoking in the bathroom. I knew I was in trouble. Then I remembered the crowd of other resort patrons that had gathered for the show, who were all now gasping at the sight. I simply looked at them, pondering my fate. 

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

I ran around the side of the resort building and down the hill to find my perp. Luckily, he didn’t go far, and he wasn’t really that banged up, just a couple scratches. That’s the thing about drunk people, they never seem to get as hurt as the sober ones.

Trying to sound empathetic, but really I was scared, I asked, “Anything broken?”

Continuing down his immaculate path of vocabulary. “Fuck you,” is all the man would, or maybe could say. 

“What’s your name?” I asked checking for signs of concussion or other head trauma, covering as many bases as I could think of. 

“Fuck you.”

I’m totally putting that in his file.

“Well, ‘Fuck You’, you’re still under arrest for domestic battery.” I handcuffed him and walked, in some parts having to drag, the man back up the hill, and loaded him in the car. 

“C16 to County.”

“Go ahead, C16.”

“I’m 10-15, one in custody. I’ll be here a bit to get some witness statements.”

“10-4.”

I took a deep breath before returning to the horrified audience. Time to face the music. I found the original caller first. “Hello, sir. Would you mind…”

He cut me off, “That was awesome!”

“Come again?”

The man was looking at me like I was his hero. “You straight up threw him off the balcony.”

I looked down, ashamed of what happened. “Not on purpose.” Was it on purpose? 

Realizing I wasn’t taking too kindly to the compliment, the man finally calmed down a bit. “Sorry. What do you need?”

“I need everyone here to fill out a witness statement.” With the man following, I approached and addressed everyone that was outside, totalling eleven. “I know what happened was a bit shocking, but I need everyone to be completely honest while filling out these statements. Please, don’t dress it up, don’t lie, just be honest. I don’t play that cover up game bullshit.” Eleven. Eleven witnesses to me yeeting a guy off of a balcony. Well, there’s always basket weaving as a career. I hear the ladies in Mexico are nice. 

I collected the witness statements, but Carissa refused to give one, and I couldn’t make her. It was a sad reality that the victim often didn’t want to press charges. That’s why the state gave officers the ability to press charges for them, based on visible, physical evidence. It’s one of the few laws I actually agreed with. 

I read the statements, and people were very honest, and very detailed, painting me in a light that made me look like a hero not a villain. 

They do care!

I took Mr. Thompson to jail, meeting a jailer in the Sally Port. “This is ‘Fuck You’, aka Lord Byron of the Hilltop Resort. He learned one lesson,” I said as I pointed out the various scratches and bruises that had begun to form from the fall, “but I don’t know if it stuck. Watch him.” 

“10-4,” the jailer said as he took custody of Mr. Thompson.

My shift was over now, after a bit of overtime dealing with the domestic batterer. I was tired and went home to my apartment in the middle of the county: Central Heights, or as I called it, Sex Offender Heights. There were 64 sex offenders in his county, and at least 30 of them lived in this apartment complex. But, it was rent controlled, and cops don’t make much money. 

As I was getting out of my car, I noticed my apartment door was open. What now? Sidearm drawn in the Seoul position, full tactical entry, I sliced the pie as I entered, finding an extremely attractive latina sleeping on my couch. I shoved her shoulder to wake her up. “Maria!”

“Hey, Sam.” She didn’t open her eyes. 

“Why are you here?”

She finally looked at me, with offense. “I’m in town. Thought I’d say hi.”

“How the fuck did you get in my apartment?”

She closed her eyes again as she spoke. “The lady at the front gave me the key?”

Meaning to think it, but it came out anyway, “Oh, Doris. What am I gonna do with her?”

“She’s a sweet lady.”

“That’s why I haven’t done anything yet,” I said, finally letting go of my anger.

“The usual?” Maria opened one eye as she turned toward me, ever so slightly.

I barely considered before answering, “Yeah, ok.” 

The usual was that when Maria came to town, we banged one out, and she left again for however long it was she was going to be gone. Maria was my high school sweetheart, but she had a drug problem. She never wanted to get me in trouble, so she not only disappeared from my life for long intervals, she left the entire surrounding area. But, when she came back, I couldn’t help but love her. I was in love with her. Or was. I tried to get her into rehabs and whatever other help I could find, but she wasn’t ready. Strange thing about addiction; you can’t help someone that isn’t ready to quit. Maria had a lot of reasons to want to escape, not the least of which being that her father used her as a sex doll until she met me in high school. She didn’t even know it was wrong until then. Sex Education didn’t cover that one. 

Sometime during the night, Maria disappeared again. She didn’t even say goodbye this time. 

Shit! Sherry…