After lunch at JK's Kitchen and drinks with Harry, McCoy drove back to the sheriff's station. While driving he considered what he'd learned from the senator.

He drove with caution and under the posted speed limit. It wouldn't do to get a DUI on his first day as the senator's investigator. McCoy left his third drink untouched. He didn't usually drink at that time of day. The drinks no doubt helped him get through a nerve racking meeting. All's well that ends well.

McCoy got the answers to questions that were most troubling to him.

He parked in a spot marked: Sheriff. It was next to the front door, and after Harry's meeting with Sheriff Davis, he wouldn't be back today. Both of the deputies he'd seen at the morning meeting, watched him take the sheriff's parking space as they stood inside the front door.

The receptionist's back was turned to the door, when McCoy stepped inside. She didn't turn to see who came in.

She felt safe, because the two deputies were now sitting on the bench across from her desk. One was reading Sporting News, while the other looked off into space at something McCoy couldn't see.

His detective's mind went to work on what might cause him trouble. He wasn't the acting sheriff, or the new sheriff, but the perception was, he replaced Sheriff Davis. They'd watched him park and now he was going to give them orders. It couldn't be helped. The sheriff's deputies weren't going to get in McCoy's way. He'd give them orders just this once. They'd sort it all out in time.

"You gentlemen don't have something to do?" McCoy asked.

"No," the older of the two deputies said. He turned the page of the newspaper after he spoke.

"Are you gentlemen on the clock?" McCoy tried.

"The sheriff didn't leave us any instructions before he stormed out. Eva's been trying to reach him. He isn't picking up the phone," the younger deputy said.

"Gentlemen, go on patrol," McCoy ordered in his command voice. "Do something. Don't sit around here. It looks unprofessional. You don't want people thinking two sheriff's deputies are two too many, do you?"

The receptionist was looking at McCoy when he turned to her. She looked up from her freshly painted fingernails. Not sure what else to do, she blew on her fingertips as she put the nail polish in her purse.

"When someone comes in, greet them with a smile, and say, 'How may I help you," McCoy said.

She took to shaking her fingers in the breeze created by the activity.

"I'm not in charge anymore?" Eva asked.

"As soon as I am in my office, you take over," McCoy said, heading for the office and leaving Eva beaming. "Buzz me if you need me."

A moment later Eva's intercom buzzed.

"Eva, should Sheriff Davis call, tell him, I'm not the acting sheriff. He needs to get off his ass and run the sheriff's station. Thank you. You're now in charge."

There was a knock on the door as McCoy contemplated his next move. The door swung open.

"I'll tell the sheriff what you said, sir," the senior deputy said. "I think he's a little put off that you were brought in to investigate the cove murder."

"What's your name?" McCoy asked.

"Kenneth Kelly. Sgt. Kelly," the deputy said with pride.

"Your sheriff has a lot of experience with murder investigations?"

"No," the other deputy piped up from behind Kelly. "We had a stiff burn up over at the cove. That's before I was out of school, but we all heard about that."

"And you are?"

"Jameson. Jimmy Jameson. I only been here a year."

"You," McCoy pointed at Kelly. "Go on patrol. You, bring me the prisoner. Can I depend on both of you to do that? What are you waiting for? Go! Go!"

"You the new sheriff?" Jameson asked.

"I'm here to investigate the Cove Campgrounds' murder case."

"Who is the sheriff?" Jameson asked, sounding confused.

"The sheriff is the sheriff. Can you bring me the prisoner?"

"You want me to bring Ivan up here?" Jameson asked.

"What do you want with Ivan?" Kelly asked.

"I intend to interrogate him about the murder. Is that OK with you?"

Five minutes later, Jameson opened the door and Ivan walked in.

"You don't handcuff prisoners?" McCoy asked.

"It's only Ivan. You didn't say I should handcuff him. You said bring him. I brung him," Jameson explained.

"You did good, Son. Go look busy now."

"McCoy, I wondered why they were bringing me up here. The sheriff and I don't exactly see eye to eye," Ivan said. "I feel like I've been on the moon. What's going on around here?"

"Just got finished drinking with Harry. Speaking with the senator is something like going to the dentist. Glad he offered me a drink," McCoy said. "He came in last night and I've been officially assigned to work the murder case by the senator and the governor. I don't mind telling you, visiting this place is like visiting Mayberry. I keep waiting for Sheriff Andy to pop out. Barney's? There are plenty of Barney's."

"You're walking in some tall cotton, McCoy. The senator and the governor want you. You must be pretty good at whatever it is you do."

"I'm a bit more seasoned than your sheriff. Harry didn't want him near this investigation. You have some powerful friends, Ivan. They're worried about you."

"I'm worried about me. I've been sitting back there in the cell and figuring out how many years I'm looking at on this deal. You do plan to catch the guy who killed Mason, aren't you? My life depends on it, McCoy."

"I've collected what evidence there is. I don't like the idea of you being locked up. So, here you are. I'd have taken you to Harry's with me, but it was a spur of the moment thing, and I didn't think about taking you along."

"Sorry to get you involved in my trouble," Ivan said. "You being on vacation and all."

"Not a problem. This is what I do. If I was home, I'd be doing it there. I'd be bored out of my gourd if this hadn't come up. It's a blessing. Mildred has collected a tent full of shells. She's beside herself with delight. You want something to eat? I figured the food here can't be anything to write home about. I ate with Mildred at JK's about noon, but I'm hungry after having drinks with Harry. What can we get around here?"

"Bologna sandwich and an apple. I'm not sure if it was breakfast or lunch. Might be my food ration for the day. Better than bread and water, I guess," Ivan said. "I'm saving the sandwich for dinner and there's a hungry rat in my cell I gave the apple to. He's been looking at me like I'm lunch."

McCoy laughed. He understood jailhouse humor.

"My problem is, I can't get the water to stay on the bread," McCoy said.

"Tell me about it," Ivan said.

"I don't know what's around here," McCoy said. "JK's doesn't deliver. I checked when I took Mildred earlier. I'm not ready to take a prisoner on a dinner date. Folks would talk and you are a prisoner."

"Pizza Emporium delivers. Best pizza in town. The only pizza in town. Luckily, it's dynamite pizza."

Ivan recited the number from memory as McCoy dialed.

"How do you like yours?" McCoy asked, holding the phone to his ear.

"A large everything pizza would feed us most of the week. It's to die for. They're only a mile away. We could be eating pizza in less than half an hour," Ivan said.

"Yeah, who am I talking to? Jenny, I'd like a large everything delivered to the sheriff's station. Can you get that done for me, beautiful? How much will that set me back? Thirteen dollars and eighty nine cents. Got it. Hurry up every chance you get, Jenny. We're starving over here."

Ivan laughed.

He realized McCoy was a charmer. Who'd have guessed?

"She must have wondered who she was talking to. You don't sound a thing like Gerald."

Ivan was in the middle of his second piece of pizza when two tall thin men in dark suits, Brooks Brother shoes and Aviator sunglasses walked in unannounced.

"We're here for Ivan Aleksa. You're holding him here?"

"My intercom must be broken," McCoy said, banging on the intercom. "Eva, do you read me. Are you greeting people with a smile?"

"They told me not to warn you they were on their way back to your office, Sheriff. Did I do something wrong?" Eva asked.

"No, Honey Child, you did just fine," McCoy said leaning back in the sheriff's chair.

"No one told me the FBI was in the building," McCoy said.

"Told her not to announce us," the taller of the two said.

"That's rather rude. I'd like to know when someone is going to interrupt my pizza party," McCoy complained. "You could be a couple of terrorists, you know."

"In that getup?" Ivan asked with a laugh.

"Hardly," the shorter man said, eyeballing Ivan.

"Yeah, well, just in case, humor me. Let's see some ID, Gentlemen," McCoy said, taking another bite of pizza.

Looking at the IDs, he nodded his approval as he chewed.

"FBI. Special agent Holcomb and Trotter. We're here for Ivan Aleksa. We've been sent from Tampa to take him off your hands."

Holcomb placed the paperwork in front of McCoy, smoothing the paperwork out to make for easy reading.

McCoy ignored it.

"It's all right here, Sheriff," Holcomb said, trying to get his eyes on the paperwork. McCoy continued enjoying his pizza.

"Did you notice me enjoying my lunch, Gentlemen," McCoy said.

Holcomb shifted from his right leg to his left leg.

"Yeah, I got him. Sit your asses down and take a slice of pizza for Christ's sake. You boys look absolutely anorexic. Relax. Take a load off. Eat for Christ's sake. They don't give you boys time to eat? Tampa isn't going anywhere."

Trotter had a piece of pizza in his hand and before the lid closed, Holcomb reached in for a slice. The four of them chewed, savoring the flavors coming off the satisfying food.

"Damn nice pizza," McCoy said, being careful to not take custody of the papers Holcomb put in front of him.

McCoy gave some thought to how far he could go impersonating a sheriff. He had no official responsibility at the sheriff's station. He wasn't giving them Ivan if he could avoid it. He'd worked with enough FBI agents to know they went by the book. They came for Ivan and they intended to leave with Ivan. McCoy decided on how to get rid of the FBI agents, while holding on to Ivan.

"We aren't supposed to accept gifts," Trotter reminded Holcomb. "We'll give you something for the pizza. Man, this is good stuff."

Holcomb nodded as he chewed.

"It isn't a gift. It's pizza. Who doesn't like pizza?" McCoy said, while considering how best to make his next move.

He didn't touch the paperwork. He wasn't the sheriff. No one asked who he was. Yeah, he was in the sheriff's office. It was a little late to try to explain who he was and how it was he was in the sheriff's office.

He decided he'd pass the buck.

As he chewed, he was considering how best to divert the FBI. He'd let Harry do the dirty work. He was the only one with more power than the FBI. McCoy knew he'd be about as popular as sea nettles if he let these guys drag Ivan off to Tampa.

"I'd never try to rain on the FBI's parade, gentlemen," McCoy started. "But if you're smart, and you look pretty intelligent to me, I'd pick up that paperwork and go talk to Senator McCallister before you get yourselves up to your ass in alligators. The senator flew home last night for the purpose of talking to Mr. Aleksa. The senator has a personal interest in the lad. He won't look kindly on you hauling him away from here. The last I heard, he was going to come over here to speak with Mr. Aleksa early this evening. I don't want to be the one to tell him Special Agents Holcomb and Trotter took Ivan out from under the senator's nose."

"Senator McCallister lives around here? The environmental guy?"

"Over by the Gulf. If you drive straight west, when you first see water, the second driveway on the left is Harry's," Ivan said. "He came home last night."

"Harry?" Trotter asked, giving Ivan the once over. "You call him Harry."

"The senator," McCoy casually said. "His friends call him Harry."

"Man, this is good pizza. Let me give you something for it, Sheriff. We aren't supposed to take gifts. Believe me when I say, this is a gift. We'll definitely check with the senator before we take the prisoner off your hands. I appreciate you giving us the heads up on that. Wouldn't do to piss off a senator," Trotter said, tossing a ten dollar bill on the top of the pizza box.

"Tell me about it," Ivan said as he chewed. "You'll pass the Pizza Emporium a half mile before you see the cove." Ivan said. "Get some pizza to carry back to Tampa with you. None better in this neighborhood."

"Good to know," Holcomb said, tossing a ten dollar bill beside Trotter's.

"Just drive on up to the house. He's home. Flash your ID when Harrison answers the door. He's the butler. It might be Algie who opens the door. Either will get you to the senator," Ivan said.

"Well, thanks for the tip. They want this guy in Tampa. Sent us to get him. Something about killing a government agent, Don't want to be stepping on no senator's toes," Holcomb said, reaching for the paperwork McCoy never touched.

The FBI agents left after they each took another slice of pizza.

"This is a pretty good deal. We get pizza and those guys each kicked in ten bucks. I'm six dollars ahead on this gig I might think twice about taking the sheriff's job away from him," McCoy said. "I bet he doesn't make this kind of money at lunch."

"Yeah, but you gave the delivery guy five bucks," Ivan said, taking the last slice of pizza before McCoy could grab it.

"I'm still a buck ahead. Better than a poke in the eye," McCoy said. "I didn't figure I'd make a dime on this case."

"I almost thought you were the sheriff myself. You do a country sheriff way better than Gerald does," Ivan said. "What are they going to say when they find out you aren't the sheriff, and they ate pizza with the prisoner they came for?"

"Shit happens," McCoy said. "The senator will set them straight. I figure he isn't letting them take you anywhere if I read the senator right. He came right home when he found out you were in trouble. Don't mind telling you, that's damn impressive, Ivan. You got something on the senator?"

"Clay's his right hand man. He runs that Conservancy while Harry's in DC. He doesn't like it when Clay's unhappy. Me being in Tampa would definitely upset Clay," Ivan said. "I wouldn't like it much myself. Don't mind telling you, McCoy, below this calm demeanor, I'm absolutely terrified."

"Ivan, I can make you no promises. The senator is the wild card in this deck. I can investigate the case here, but my reach is limited by my location. The crime scene doesn't offer much in clues. The fire, the firemen, the nature of the people hamper me, but I'll find the killer. I can't say how long it might take."

"Don't hurt yourself for me, McCoy. I don't know what your situation is in Chicago, but don't take a hit for me. I'll be OK. I didn't do this and I have an alibi. That has to mean something."

"Don't worry about me, Ivan. I have more vacation time than I was prepared to use. This has livened things up a bit. I like your beach and all, but how long does it take to look at a beach? Using my skills is a hell of a lot better than holding the shells my wife collects. There isn't a law against removing shells from Florida, is there? My trunk is filled with those suckers."

"Take all you like. Plenty where those came from," Ivan said. "Don't tell Clay I said that."

Ivan liked the sheriff's office better than he liked the jail cell. He was the only prisoner and it was way too quiet at the sheriff's station for his taste.

"I need a hardware store, and I can take you with me. Get you away from here for a couple of hours in case Mutt and Jeff come back," McCoy said.

"Hey, you, where you taking the prisoner," Jameson asked, as McCoy escorted Ivan toward his car.

"I thought you were on patrol," McCoy barked.

"Sheriff said I should keep an eye on you," Jameson said.

"I'm interrogating the suspect, if you must know. Taking him to the scene of the crime. I'm going to make him talk. You got a problem with that, son?"

"No, Sir. I'm keeping an eye on you is all, like the sheriff told me."

"You tell the sheriff I said, you're doing a fine job, son."

"Yes, sir!" the deputy said happily. "Thank you."

McCoy and Ivan got into his car and he backed onto the highway, not knowing which way to go.

"I need a hardware store. Got one around here?" McCoy asked.

"Sure. Henry's Hardware. It's on the other side of town," Ivan said. "It's in the other direction."

"There's a town here?" McCoy asked. "Go figure."

"You're in the middle of it. This is the all purpose fire department, sheriff's station, and Dr. Wilson's office. The city council meets here once a month," Ivan said.

"My word. It's a regular metropolis, isn't it?" McCoy said.

"Yeah, it is. Dylan's school is out another mile. This is the hardware."

"We could have walked," McCoy said, hitting the brakes and turning into the next driveway.

Henry came up with everything McCoy asked for in about ten minutes. He was checking out with seventeen dollars and forty-five cents worth of goods.

"You building onto your tent, McCoy?" Ivan asked once they were back in the car and heading toward the cove.

"You'll see," McCoy said, driving to the driveway behind the campsites.

Turning around, he parked ten feet from the first cinder block.

"I hate to ask you to help me," McCoy said. "It'll speed things up. I'm making impressions of tire tracks. I have a couple of footprints I want to get too."

"I was wondering what you were up to. Just getting out of that place is a treat. I don't mind doing my part. You figure the killer pulled over here, McCoy?"

"Hard to say, but when I get the killer, we'll see if I have an impression of one of the tires on his car. It's the kind of evidence juries like."

Ivan got the water and McCoy mixed the plaster. Once he poured the plaster into the tire impressions, they had to wait for the plaster to dry.

"Once we're done here, want to stop at the shop?" McCoy asked.

"I'm in no hurry," Ivan said. "You're taking me back to jail after we finish. I would like to say howdy to Tag, if we aren't in a hurry. He's left to do everything it took both of us to do before. He's capable of doing it but seeing me might make things look a bit better."

"Yes, for now, I'll need to take you back to jail, but you can sit in the office with me. I'll be needing to do some serious interrogation, you know. That's how we do it in Chicago," McCoy said. "I'll be giving you the third degree if the deputies get curious about why you aren't in your cell. The sheriff has Jameson watching me."

Ivan laughed.

As they waited for the tire impressions to dry, a black sedan drove by, tooting its horn as it passed.

"Is that the FBI agents?" Ivan asked as he waved.

Holcomb and Trotter waved back.

"That's them. If they ask, I'll tell them I had you picking up trash on the side of the highway. Not telling them who you are might make them suspicious of anything I tell them."

"You think they'll be back, McCoy?" Ivan asked.

McCoy looked Ivan over. He seemed none the worse for wear. The truth was always best if it was possible to go with the truth.

"Afraid so, Ivan. The feds have noticed Mason is no longer among the living. They need to appear like they're doing something about it."

"Harry?"

"We'll ask Harry. He's bound to come by. I hope he does it before the Hoover boys come back for you," McCoy said.

Ivan watched the rear of the black sedan disappear in the distance.

"Hey, Boss. You're looking fit," Tag said, looking up from the paper he was reading. "You brought McCoy with you. You still under arrest?"

"Yeah, no one has sprung me yet. How are you doing, Tag?"

"Just made a fresh pot of coffee. Sit a spell. Take a load off your feet, McCoy. Coffee's fresh."

Ivan sat behind the gigantic mahogany desk and McCoy sat in front of it. They drank coffee while giving the plaster impressions a little more time to dry.

"They called to say the other two boats will be back this weekend. I'll need to close the shop to run the Gulf tours. My uncle will take out the deep sea fisherman, and I'll take the Gulf tours. I'll start with one a day, but we'll need to do one in the morning and one in the afternoon when June rolls around, Boss. I haven't asked Clay about taking out the divers, but I'll do that once things calm down a little."

"You're in charge, Tag. Do what you need to do. You know as much about the business as I do. You run into anything you need help with call Clay."

"OK, Boss. How long you going to be gone from here?"

"McCoy?"

"The feds are sniffing around. I can't predict what they're up to. I need some time to find the killer. It's all footwork. I'll track down what I can find that gives me a direction to go in. If we keep it in the state of Florida, a good prosecutor is going to take a long look at Ivan's alibi. He might not want him charged, until he investigates. It's too early in the investigation to make any predictions. Right now, I'm taking Ivan with me to get him out of his cell, but that won't last long. Someone is bound to squawk."

"Gerald?" Tag asked. "He's good at that."

"That would be my bet," McCoy said. "His young deputy is already keeping an eye on me. These interludes away are short lived."

"Dylan helped with the trash this morning. He's too quiet for my taste. This is getting to him, Boss," Tag said. "He actually was ready to go to school this morning. You know how he feels about school."

"Nothing I can do about it, Tag. I've been arrested and so far it hasn't been too bad, but the FBI came for me a couple of hours ago. McCoy says they'll be back. They're looking to take me to Tampa. We sent them to talk to Harry."

"Can they do that, McCoy," Tag asked.

"Feds do anything they want," McCoy said. "I diverted their attention today, but the senator has no power to keep Ivan here. He got them off the scent today, but I'm predicting, we haven't seen the last of Special Agents Holcomb and Trotter."

"Clay knows about the FBI coming for you?" Tag asked.

"No. You want to tell him, Tag?" Ivan asked.

"No, Sir. I'd rather eat glass than tell Clay a thing like that, Boss."

"Don't worry, he'll bring me my dinner tonight. I'll fill him in. I am not anxious to put any more distance between us. Clay is walking the razor's edge as is."

"Don't worry about the shop. I got it covered. I can sleep here if I need to," Tag said. "Kind of lonely without you here, Boss."

"Do the best you can, Tag. Do not talk to Dylan about any of this. If he wants to talk, let him, but don't encourage him to dwell on this," Ivan said. "Dylan is handling this worse than Clay is. Clay's barely hanging on for Dylan's sake."

"We need to get back before they come looking for us," McCoy said.

"Good luck, Boss," Tag said as the two men left the shop.


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

On to Chapter Twenty-Six

Back to Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Index

Rick Beck Home Page

"The Gulf and the Spy" Copyright © 2023 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

Home Page | Authors | Stories by the Writer Suggested Reading | Suggested Viewing | Links Privacy Policy | Terms of Service Send a Comment All Site Content © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer unless otherwise noted Layout © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer