Sheriff Porter 102 (edited)

Sheriff Porter 102

I drove into the yard of a small house that had trash scattered all around it. The gray Chevy SUV was in the drive. I looked to be sure that it was the one in the hit and run. I parked my Honda behind it, then hit speed dial to call Wilson.

“Wilson, I’m not sure what county I’m in but figure it out and call the Sheriff. Tell him I’m sitting in the driveway of the guy involved in the hit and run thirty minutes ago and he might want to get a car over her before he leaves.

Before the deputy could get to the scene, the dickhead came out of his house. “What are you doing in my drive way?” he asked.

“Oh I’m here to make sure you don’t go anywhere before the Sheriff gets here,” I said.

“You called the sheriff?” he asked.

“You should be glad I did. The alternative was to shoot you and set fire to your house. That woman you ran off and left to die sent me,” I said.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“The name is Sylvia Porter and I’m a private investigator. I am also working for the woman you almost killed, so dickhead I have every right to block your fucking drive way,” I informed him.

“You I do not like. Move your car,” he said angrily.

We were both standing beside my car. He obviously came from a culture where a woman would never raise her hand to a man.

“Fuck you,” was my reply.

He decided that he could beat me into submission, but he got a real surprise. Like men everywhere, when dealing with a woman, he drew back to slap me. The thing Reggie had taught me in the gym was to look for the telegraphed blows. Knowing when and where they were coming, was the most advantageous thing in a fight.

By the time I reacted he had his arm back, which left his midsection available to punch hard. He was a bad ass with his mouth, but his body was soft. I hit him so hard the air rushed out of his lungs making a whooshing noise. He was bent over so the fight was over. I took the chance to punished him some more. I knew the cops could only do so much, so I completed his beat down before I put a zip tie around his hands. “You might want to think twice when you draw back to hit a woman next.” I got in one kick to the ribs before the Sheriff arrived.

The forensic evidence was complete, and the fact that I was in a rural county probably kept me out of jail. That and no man of his background would ever admit he was beat almost unconscious by a mere woman.

“Well you took your own sweet time,” Wilson said when I finally made it home the next morning.

“Sorry mom, I stopped at the county jail for a visit with some nice deputies and then the hospital to check on our client,” I said.

“What client?” Wilson asked.

“The one in the hit and run,” I replied.

“You said she was semi conscious how could she hire us,” Wilson asked.

“She said, ‘please help me.’ The Sheriff and I agreed, it was the act of one who had hired a private investigator,” I said.

“Well do you think the case is closed,” Wilson asked.

“The son of a bitch who cased the accident was in the country illegally and had no insurance on the car. He was also driving with stolen tags. She has some insurance on her car so that is good. I think she is fine. I left her a card if her insurance company gives her any shit.”

“Good, things have been popping around here since you got back in the country. The state department is hot to have you testify and some CIA guy called. He left a message don’t testify. I did what you said to do, I gave them all the number of your friends in the swamp.”

“Good work Wilson. By the way I think I am through at the Swamp,” I said simply.

“I do hope so. You are going to get killed messing with those guys,” he said.

“To be honest I was more afraid of rotting in some South American shit hole,” I said.

“No matter the reason I hope you stick to your decision,” he said.

“We will see,” I said.

“So what will we do?” he asked.

“Just the same things we always do, but without the out of country stuff,” I replied. “So Wilson, fill me in on the Railroad B&B.”

The man who owns it is crazy. There were twenty rooms when the railroad ran it. The first owner of the B&B reconfigured it so there are ten rooms now. Each has it’s own bath. There were two baths per floor when the Railroad had it. They rent for around a hundred a night. If you can find anyone to rent them. Everyone wants to stay oceanfront on Jefferson Island. That’s according to Chrissy’s mom,” Wilson said.

“I can see that. We spent a few nights at both and I have to admit the scenery is better on the island. Of course the price is twice as much. They probably kept it going on the money from the bar.”

“That’s pretty much what the ladies said,” Wilson admitted. “The owner couldn’t make a go of it as a fancy B&B, so he leased it to the ladies. Since you ran them out of town, you really should do something with the place.”

“There was one thing we had trouble with when we moved here. There were no short term lease studio apartments. That might work if we advertised it that way,” I suggested. “You know what, let me get the investment guys to look it over and tell me what it is really worth.”

“Good, it certainly isn’t going anywhere,” Wilson admitted.

“So where the hell are we going to eat now?” I asked.

“I have been to that buffet on Jefferson Island but I know you don’t like the island,” Wilson said.

“No, I really don’t like it out there. There are way to many secrets on that sand bar for me,” I said with a smile.

“You go out to the pier and drink their coffee,” Wilson said.

“It’s the only pier in the area. It sits there hanging out over the ocean. Now and then it even has a boat go by,” I suggested. “They have a pretty good burger there.”

“You know if you did buy that Hotel, we could put a kitchen and dining room in. One that we like. Maybe even a donut shop like you did in County Seat,” Wilson suggested.

“How about we stay in and microwave one of those spaghetti dinners,” I suggested. “Tell me something Wilson are you tired of living on a house barge yet?”

“Not at all, and I don’t want to move into the hotel. I just don’t want to see it torn down either. There has to be something we can do with it,” he said.

“Okay well I’m going to microwave a dinner. It will be a nice change from a cold MRE. That and some kind of local stew were the only things available in the bush,” I said.

“Well Sylvia, I am glad to have you home,” Wilson said.

“I’m glad to be home Wilson,” I said. I found that I really meant it. I wasn’t sure if Wilson was a part of it or not, but it really was good to be out of the shit for a while. I had an alert on my computer, when I got around to turning it on.

The alert advised me that I had a message from the Swamp. They had made a deposit in my account. The deposit was for the five thousand dollars they had promised me and a second five thousand as a bonus. I was glad to see it. It meant I could go a couple of months without worrying about losing ground on the business.

It didn’t get dark until after 9 PM so I knew it had to be ten, when the sound of breaking glass cause the old reflex to kick in. I hit the floor and pulled Wilson down with me. I crawled to the light switch and made a move to kill it. Then I crawled to a broom cabinet and removed the 20 gauge over and under shotgun.

“What the hell was that?” Wilson asked.

“Someone shot the window out. At least they didn’t get the patio door,” I suggested. Then it exploded into shards all around me.

“You spoke too soon,” Wilson said.

“It would seem so,” I suggested. “I guess we need to make some noise so I’m going to call 911.” Just as soon as I said it there was the sound of a car pulling out of our parking lot moving fast. “My guess is that was our shooter.”

“Yeah me too, let me get some lights and we will go see what if anything they left behind,” Wilson said.

“Hold on while I call the sheriff’s office. Then I will go down with you,” I said. I actually called 911 and told them that we had our house fired into. Shooting into an occupied dwelling is some serious shit. I made sure that the dispatcher knew it was occupied at the time of the shooting.

“Why are you doing this?” Wilson asked. “This isn’t like you.”

“I want to know something only a cop can tell me. I want to know if that punk ass, I rolled on, is in or out of jail,” I explained. This is either revenge or a warning. I humiliated him. I expect it is payback, but I want to know for sure.”

It took twenty minutes of filling out reports before the Deputy would check the status of the ‘peaceful Muslim’, I had beat down. The deputies were holding him till the woman was out of the intensive care unit. The judge had refused him bail.

The deputies said they would drive by the marina for a while. “Thanks deputy that make me feel a lot better,” I said without too much sarcasm.

When he had gone, I went looking for Wilson. He was in the office reloading the computer. All the programs and memory were emptied every night. “So what do we know?”

“The ‘peaceful Muslim’ has a brother and a crazy uncle. Why the government allows these people in the country is beyond me,” Wilson said.

“Target practice?” I asked. “Well you sit tight. If anyone calls I’m in the bathroom. Give me those addresses,” I said getting into the truck with the over and under and a bandoleer of 20 gauge buckshot. I also had the .22 mag with the 8 round cylinder.

“Welcome home,” Wilson said.

I went by both houses and shot out every window I could see from the street. I also shot up the cars in the drive. Then I calmly drove home. I was back home in bed by midnight. I knew damn well Wilson would lie for me.

Next morning I was careful to run and to stay away from the airstrip. I was in the office with Wilson checking the Internet for information about the family, when the crazy Uncle came to see me.

I slammed him against the wall just for cursing at me. I had the .22 mag out and I stuck it in his mouth within a minute. “Now you shut the fuck up and listen, or I am going to splatter your brains all over my clean wall. I am not the police or the FBI. Hell I ain’t even the CIA.

If anything else gets broken on my barge, or in my parking lot, or my truck, I am going to come burn your fucking house to the ground. If anyone takes another shot at me, I will have no problem killing you, and your whole damn family. So you should tell your nephew that if he wants your blood, and the blood of your wife and children on his hands, try that shit with the windows again. By the way, I will come for his brother, and his wife and children, not to mention his own wife and kids. There are no innocents in a Jihad, as I understand it.

His only choice is to stand up like a man and take his punishment, because he can’t kill me, and he can’t scare me. Now you get the fuck out of my face and do it now.” My voice had gotten louder.

“Wilson if they get me, call swamp dog,” I said. He just nodded.

Edited by Walt

About cindypress

sorry it is a mystery.
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8 Responses to Sheriff Porter 102 (edited)

  1. Ted says:

    Never a dull moment makes for a great story.

  2. Mr. Twitchy says:

    Sylvia remindss me of a cat I had. There were days when that crazy shit would walk across the street and just WHIP the tar out of my neighbor’s dog for absolutely no apparent reason. Afterwards, he would roll around on his back a few times and walk home, and take a nap.
    He liked people just fine, but when he took a notion to whip up on the dog, it sure was funny.

    Except for the dog …

  3. jackballs57 says:

    I posted another chapter to my story tonight. Thanks All.
    http://www.bjjonesmylife.wordpress.com

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