Sweet Talking Lawman (2 page)

He yawned and rubbed his
hands across his eyes, trying to push away the grainy droop that made them
harder and harder to keep open.  It had been a long day and an even longer
night, but if the tip he’d gotten earlier today proved out, he could take a
serial rapist out of action for a really long time.  It would be worth it
and once he had that jerk locked up, he could sleep until the cows came home.

A movement in the shadow of
the big oak tree beside the house caught his attention and just that fast all
feelings of weariness were swished away by a rush of adrenalin that shot
through his body.  He keyed the walkie-talkie in his hand twice, a
prearranged signal to the deputy hidden in the house.  A single click from
the receiving officer let him know that everything was set and waiting.

“Did you see the movement
under the tree?” Levi Lost Bull whispered through the downed window that Rafe’s
left elbow was resting in.  Levi stood in the shadows close to the old
truck that was their unmarked surveillance vehicle for the night.  Down
the street on the next block a dog barked, the sound carrying in the thin night
air.

Rafe nodded and grunted a
nearly silent, “Yeah.  Krystal’s waitin’ for ‘im to make an entrance.”

The rusty, dented, old truck
had been parked in the garage of the house across the street for most of the
day.  The garage door had been missing for over a year, so it made a great
spot for a stakeout.  The darkness covered their presence and the street
light just down the block offered enough light to allow their surveillance.

Late last night Jarvis Mapes
had been brought in for questioning about a string of burglaries and earlier
this morning he’d made a plea deal.  He’d named a neighborhood, he swore,
was the next target of the rapist that had half the women in this small rural
town afraid to go to bed at night, in exchange for a lesser charge.

As Sheriff of Morgan County,
Rafter Storm Horse had called every officer he had available into plain clothes
surveillance throughout this particular neighborhood of town.  He was sure
that Susan Markham was the intended victim.  Now that he finally knew
which neighborhood the rapist was planning to target, Rafe was positive she was
the one.  Susan wasn’t the only woman in the neighborhood that fit the
profile that the rapist was drawn to, but she was probably the one best known
around town.  Susan had worked at the grocery store since she graduated
from high school year before last and was still single.  She lived alone
in a small apartment of a refurbished older house on the ground floor. 
She would be the easiest for the rapist to access.  She was now safely
ensconced in the local hotel, courtesy of the town council.

Rafe watched as the shadowy
figure moved along the side of the house, keeping his body close to the
building.  He paused at each window and when he reached the one closest to
the front porch, Rafe smiled.  He knew the prowler would find that window
unlocked.  He’d made sure of it.  Sure enough, he and Levi watched as
the darkly clad figure pushed the window up and climbed silently inside. 
Again Rafe keyed the walkie-talkie two times.  He got no reply, but didn’t
expect one.  He knew Krystal Montgomery was now tucked into Susan’s bed,
her gun in her hand, waiting for the rapist to attack.  In the closet of
that same room, Deputy John Montgomery, her husband, stood silently waiting for
the same thing.

Rafe pushed open the
well-oiled door of the old truck from which the interior light had long ago been
removed and stepped out.  He borrowed Levi’s walkie-talkie and spoke
softly into it.  The rest of the department was on a different channel
than his and Montgomery’s walkies so there was no chance that the rapist would
hear him.  “Move in quietly.  I want everyone ready to pile into that
house when we hear John start shoutin’.”  As he spoke, he and Levi
scurried across the street and eased up onto the porch.  Knowing the
rapist had always entered the houses through an open window, he’d arranged for
the doors to be left unlocked, as well as the window the prowler had used, and
now his bet would pay off.  He pulled his gun from the leather holster and
waited for only a minute before he heard Krystal shout and the hard thud of
John slamming the door open as he burst out of the closet and into the bedroom
to assist his wife.

When Rafe and the rest of his
officers rushed into the room scant seconds later, Krystal, sitting up in the
bed, the covers flung back, had her gun shoved into the face of the menacing black
clad figure beside the bed and John had his gun aimed at the man’s head from
only a foot away.  The intruder was whimpering in fear, his trembling arms
raised above his head.

Rafe flipped on the light and
moved toward the terrified criminal with handcuffs at the ready.  Then he
stopped and swore softly.  “He ain’t riddin’ back to lock-up in my car,”
he declared in disgust.  “He peed all over the place.”  He swore
again.  “I guess we’ll have to pay for someone to come in here and clean
this rug!”

He fastened the man’s hands
behind his back and turned him around.

Krystal Montgomery slipped
her hand gun back into its holster and smiled at Rafe.  “I guess it’s
kinda hard to hold your water when, what you think is a defenseless woman,
sticks a loaded 44 up your nose.”

A smile split her generous
lips into a wide smirk.  “Since he has to go down to county lock up, why
don’t you let him ride in the back of that old surveillance truck?  You
have to return it to the compound anyway and it can always just be hosed out.”

Rafe grinned at her. 
“You and John use it to take him.  My ride’s around the corner and the key
is in the truck.  This is your collar, not mine.  You deliver him,
you do the paperwork.  I’ll sign it tomorr…,” he glanced at his watch,
“later this afternoon.  Right now, I’m going home to bed.  It’s been
a long time since six a.m. yesterday.”  He glanced at his watch again and
whistled.  “A long time.”  He’d been going for almost twenty-six
hours straight.  “I’m gettin’ too damned old for these long days.”

The other officers in the
room laughed.  At thirty-four, Rafe was one of the youngest of those
present.

Leaving his perfectly capable
deputies to finish up the details of the assignment, Rafe walked down the block
and around the corner to his four-wheel drive SUV emblazoned with the insignia
of the county’s law enforcement agency.  He knew he was the youngest
sheriff in the state, but he knew his job and took pride in knowing the
citizens of his county had entrusted him with the responsibility for another
full term, just two short months ago.

As he pulled the door of his
vehicle open, he was greeted with excessive enthusiasm by a huge mixed breed
bulldog.  “Hey, take it easy, Spur!  You knew I’d be back.”  He
patted the brindle spotted dog affectionately and slipped behind the
wheel.  He drove through the streets and was soon headed down the highway
that led to the small cattle ranch that he’d called home since the day he was
born.  The only times he’d lived anywhere else was the stint he’d served
in the Marine Corps and the six years he’d worked with the U.S. Marshals.

Parking the SUV under the
dark shadow of an old oak tree in the back yard, he breathed in a sigh of
relief to be home again.  They’d worked a successful stake out and took a
dangerous man off the streets.  He stepped out into the yard and watched
the bulldog jump out behind him.  The animal dashed off to sniff and mark
his territory.  Rafe shook his head and chuckled softly.  There
wasn’t another dog on the place to mark over Spur’s last patrol, but it never
made a difference to the animal.  He was compelled to remark every spot,
every time he came home.  It’d probably be a half hour or more before all
the sniffing and marking was finished so he figured he could just go on up to bed
and Uci would let the dog in when she got up.

By the time he’d climbed the
stairs to his room, he’d already removed his gun belt, unbuttoned his shirt and
had his pants unfastened.  He used the boot jack just inside his bedroom
door and pulled his boots off, sat on the bed and shed his socks, tossed his
uniform shirt and his t-shirt onto a chair beside the door before he stood
again and slipped out of his jeans.  He’d agreed to wear the tan uniform
shirt of the Sheriff’s Department, but the khaki pants he’d refused from the
first day.  His jeans were comfortable, more durable and cheaper, so he’d
convinced the county leaders to allow the officers to wear jeans.  He
dropped his across the chest at the foot of his bed and with another big sigh
of relief, slipped between the sheets of his bed.  He didn’t move again
for almost nine hours.

It was the sound of Uci
banging on his bedroom door that finally woke him up.  “Rafter Storm
Horse, I will not feed another meal that I have prepared for you to that…eating
machine you call a dog.  Get up, now!”

Groggily his pulled himself
into a sitting position.  “Uci,” the Lakota term for grandmother was his
own way of respecting both the woman who’d raised him and their shared
heritage, “open the door and stop shouting at me.”  His voice was as
groggy as his brain from heavy sleep.

When she pushed the door open
her wrinkled face looked stern, but he knew she was smiling inside.  “I’ve
been listening to the radio and so I know what a hero you are today, but I
don’t care and I’m not feeding that steak I got for you to that dog.  Get
up and get dressed.  I’ll throw it in the pan when I hear you turn off the
shower.”  Her deep sepia eyes sparkled with pride as she looked at her
grandson.  He was the sunshine in her life, and had been since she’d held
him in her arms still wet from birth and screaming his anger at having been
pushed out of his mother’s womb.

He patted the mattress beside
his hip, an invitation for her to cross the room and sit on the bed next to
him.  “What time is it?”

“Almost one p.m.,” she
replied dropping her bottom onto the mattress so she was facing him. 
“What time did you get to bed?”

He shrugged.  “Probably
around four this morning.  It was a long day.”

Uci nodded.
  “Susan Markham has called almost every hour since nine this
morning.  I guess she thinks I’m too old to remember to tell you to call
her when you get up.  That one must not be very sharp, because every time
she calls, I tell her the same thing, ‘I’ll tell him you called when he wakes
up.’”

Rafe grinned.  “She’s
probably wantin’ to make sure we’re gonna pay to have the rug in her bedroom
cleaned.  When Krystal shoved her 44 up that guy’s nose, he peed all over
the place.”

The old Indian woman laughed
softly while she shook her head negatively.  “I think it is hero worship
that’s behind all her calls.  She says you saved her life.”

“Probably not her life,” he
said softly, “and as bad as it has been, so far this guy hasn’t killed
anyone.  Rape and beating is more his style.”

Uci shrugged.  “Things
change.  You never know what he would have done.”  She stood up and
walked to the door.  “But you can bet your sweet behind that I will not
cook that steak until I hear you turn that shower off.  Now get out of
that bed!”

She pulled the door closed as
she walked down the hall.  Rafe had always been a good boy and she took
pride in knowing she’d helped him grow up to be the man he’d become.  He’d
worked hard for everything he had and she loved seeing him become a success on
the paths he’d chosen for himself.  Being raised by an old Indian
grandmother had left little doubt in anyone’s mind what his heritage was and in
spite of the occasional racial prejudices that he’d faced, he’d been able to
become a bridge between the two communities of white man and Indian.  He
treated both races with respect and fairness and as a result, he received
respect and confidence from them both.  The last election had proof of
that.  She wondered if she should tell him about the other phone call
she’d received that morning.

Her niece, Marlie Arrowhead
had worked on the Howell ranch for several years and she was there when Rance
Howell had taken the fall with that horse a few weeks back.  She’d called
this morning to let her aunt know that Rance’s niece, Mesa was coming home to
look after her uncle and the Rocking H ranch.  Well, to be truthful,
Marlie had called to gossip and the tidbit about Mesa had been the part that
needed to be remembered.  Uci chuckled.  She’d missed Mesa and she
knew Jenny had as well.  It was good she was coming home.

Mesa had been Rafe’s younger
sister, Jenny’s, best friend their entire lives.  Mesa, her mother and her
Uncle Rance had inherited the ranch when Mesa’s father was killed in a bar
fight.  If his brother, Rance, hadn’t come to run the place, Mesa’s mother,
Shirley Howell would have surely lost it, considering that she hadn’t seen much
unless it was through the bottom of a whiskey bottle, ever since her husband
died.  As it was, she’d insisted that Rance live in the small house on the
lake, away from the main house and had as little to do with him as
possible.  Mesa, however, had loved her Uncle Rance dearly.  Right
after Mesa and Jenny graduated from high school, Mesa ran away and little had
been heard from her since, except on the radio.  The broom that Uci had
been using to sweep the kitchen floor stopped as she paused, her thoughts
slipping back a few years.

Mesa had always had an
incredible voice and had recorded several hit songs that had put her in the
spotlight for a few years, but lately there hadn’t been much from her. 
She seemed to have dropped out of the music field and just disappeared. 
Not that anyone from home had looked for her.  When she left Oak Ridge, it
seemed she never looked back.   Then, several years ago, Rafe came
home from a U.S. Marshal’s Service assignment and told Jenny that he’d run in
to Mesa while he was working undercover.  The two childhood friends had
reconnected and they’d learned she was living in Branson, Missouri.  She
was singing in a small club that she owned on the outskirts of Branson. 
Rafe had been vague about the meeting with her and wouldn’t talk about it with
anyone, but he’d purchased most of her old hits and even now, six years later,
he spent listened to her rich voice when he had time for music.  Personally,
Uci suspected something meaningful had happened between Rafe and Mesa during
that time he’d been working undercover, but he refused to discuss it with
anyone, except to say that she’d been doing well, as far as he could tell.