Strawberries

"That was a wonderful meal, country boy. I don't know what was better, this or the BBQ out in Texas." Joey commented, after a nice spread that included deep fried catfish fillets, cole slaw, huspuppies, cheese grits and sweet tea.

"I was hoping you'd like it, but reserve judgement until after a southern breakfast at the Georgia Farmers Market tomorrow." Ricky replied.

"Oh, no! You mean it gets better?" Joey said with a laugh.

"Was everything alright with yall?" the waitress asked, stopping by the table with the check and another tea refill.

"Yes, maam, it sure was." Ricky answered. "Do yall still have showers here? It's been a while since I've stopped here."

"Shame on you." she said with mock admonishment. "As a matter of fact the showers have been recently remodeled. All new, spacious too."

"Sounds like a winner." Ricky said as he paid the bill, including a generous tip.

Ricky decided to fuel there so he could run straight through to his destination in Forest Park, Georgia. He let Joey wait in the lobby with their bags while he parked the truck and met her inside. The shower room was impressive indeed. New ceramic tile on floor and walls, his & hers sinks and large fluffy towels awaited them. The shower itself was oversized, with a built in seat at one end.

When Joey set her vanilla scented, herbal shampoo on the counter Ricky took notice. "Aha, so that is where the delightful fragrance comes from."

"You think so?" Joey teased.

"Allow me to correct myself. I believe sweetness just naturally emanates from your pores." he said slipping out of his jeans.

"Emanates from my pores? Does it get anymore romantic than that?"

"Well how about this, then. You smell good enough to eat, babygirl." he said as pulled her closed and nibbled her ear lobe.

"I may taste even better after a nice hot shower." she said, leading him by the hand into the stall, warmed up and waiting.

"Oops, almost forgot something." Ricky said, grabbing the soap and shampoo. "Oh, no, allow me." he said as Joey reached for the shampoo.

They stood facing each other, with her back to the shower head. He rested his chin on her head and began gently rubbing her back with a soapy wash cloth.

"This is nice." she whispered. "Southern hospitality?"

"Just helping out with those hard to reach places."

Ricky then poured some shampoo into his palm, working the fragrant, golden liquid into her scalp. He worked slowly, using the pads of his fingers to make circular motions in the crown of her head, gradually working his way down to the sides, and finally the back. He felt her breathing accelerate as she pressed her face against his chest and dug her nails lightly into his back.

"Best shampoo I've ever had." Joey groaned.

"Pace yourself, sweetie. Conditioning is next."

Ten minutes later, flush with desire, Joey commented on the built-in shower seat. "That thing looks like it could be mighty useful about now, country boy."

"That thing? I always thought that was for fat guys to sit down and wash their feet."

"You ever do it sitting down?"

"What, wash my feet?"

"Don't go getting all obtuse on me now. You know exactly what I mean. And if you don't, you are about to get a lesson. Have a seat daddy, and let babygirl take over." Joey said, pushing him gently back toward the seat.

Afterwards, while drying off, Ricky leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Don't get too relaxed, shug. Still a ways to go." Joey told him.

"You may have to drive. I am worthless now. My superpowers have been drained by your female trickery."

"You are far from worthless, ya big goof. Now come on on get dressed before you fall asleep. Maybe you can take a day off after your delivery, unless you're in a hurry to get home."

"No hurry. Nobody there waiting on me. But perhaps we can swing through Savannah on the way to Florida and I can show you my humble abode. Maybe take a cruise out to the beach in my old Mustang. Have you ever seen the Atlantic ocean?"

"No, I haven't. And I think I would like that. I would like that very much."

 

After nailing down a confession in near record time, Harry Benson went home and fell asleep in record time, skipping the shower he wanted badly, but apparently not as much as he wanted sleep.

During his slumber, the mysterious dark haired woman was located and arrested. Rhonda Burke, aka "Buns" was sitting at a bar stool in one of the seedier sections of Bakersfield with a tumbler of Jack Daniels in front of her and six grams of crack cocaine in her purse.
She obviously chose to invest her spoils in narcotics. Also in her purse was a driver's license and credit card belonging to a woman in Fresno; not suprisingly, a Mega Mart shopper, present during the robbery.

*

Roughly an hour earlier, and eighty miles to the north, in Tulare, CHP officer Randall Tillman pulled over a ratty looking Geo Metro for going fourteen miles over the posted limit on Highway 99.
Before the officer had a chance to open his own door, the Geo driver was off and running. In such a sparsely populated area, hiding would be a near impossibilty. The suspect ran toward the only building in sight, an abandoned gas station on the service road.
The windows had long ago been broken out, making entry easy. The man ducked out of sight, presumably in the garage bay.

The CHP called in the stop and was soon joined by one of his brethren and two cars containing three officers from the local county sheriff's office. Tillman explained to the new arrivals the suspicious behavior of the suspect and how he thought they should proceed with caution.

The senior sheriff's deputy agreed and the five men formed a rough semicircle as they approached the old gas station, with the outer men posting themselves on the ends of the building, better able to watch the rear of the building. Tillman stopped thirty feet from the building, with his palm resting on his still holstered service revolver.

"Sir, can you hear me?" announced Tillman, in a loud speaking voice, not quite a shout.

No answer.

"Sir, we know you're in there. Please answer. Whatever the problem is, we can't help you if you don't talk to us."

Still no answer.

"Any one of you guys speak Spanish?" Tillman asked his fellow officers.

One of the Tulare guys did and asked repeatedly in Spanish for the guy to come out or at least speak up.

They didn't know if the guy was armed or not, but had to treat the situation as if he was. The suspect was about to remove all doubt.

"Get the hell out of here and leave me alone. Why can't you guys just leave me alone?" a voice from inside said. Tillman thought he sounded distressed, perhaps inebriated. Maybe just scared.

"It's a little late for that, but you can only make things worse like this." Tillman answered. Then a shot rang out.

Already in a crouch, Tillman hit the dirt, withdrawing his pistol in the process.

"Everybody ok?" he shouted as he took inventory of his fellow lawmen, suddenly feeling very vulnerable, out in the open as he was. He was in the center of the half moon shape they formed. He could see the men on either side of him, but the corners of the building obscured his view of the outer two.

Everybody checked in as another shot rang out. A puff of smoke appeared from a missing panel in the garage bay door. Tillman judged it to be a small caliber handgun from the sound. The perp was shooting high, for no plumes of dirt erupted from the ground anywhere. Was he that poor of a shot, or did he think he could scare them off with warning shots? Either way, it was a dangerous situation. The men were safer on the ground, for standing up to back away would only present better targets for the perp.

The two men on the corners of the formation, the other CHP and the senior deputy, ran at a crouch to the building and flattened themselves to the walls. There were no windows on either side, and the two men went to the back corners and peeked around.

Immediately after the first shot, one of the deputies called in for additional backup, using his handheld radio. He cautioned them to arrive sans sirens, as to not further antagonize the suspect. A car had now arrived and Tillman waved them back, not wanting to bring anyone else into the line of fire. He was relieved to see one of them step out of his car with a scope equipped rifle.

The only opening at the rear of the building was a fire escape door. The door itself was rusted and leaning against the wall, having been taken off of it's hinges some time ago. The officers' eyes met and they exchanged a questioning look that said should we? They both knew the dangers of entering a blind situation. The perp could have his back turned away from the door or he just as easily be facing it. A coin's flip chance either way.

They never had to make that decision. A young shirtless man, wearing torn jeans, tennis shoes, and a red bandana, ran through the door carrying a .380 semiautomatic pistol. Perhaps he was trying for the copse of trees a hundred yards ahead, but he was oblivious to the two officers on either side of the door until the CHP shouted at him.

"Just hold up there fella. Drop the pistola and turn around slowly." he ordered camly.

The man stopped, holding the pistol at his side. And just stood there. Time seemed to freeze as both officers pointed their weapons in the traditional three point stance, sights trained on the torso, the broadest available target. But even the best target can move, and at thirty feet, there are no guarantees with a handgun, even with the best of marksmen.

"Listen, son, whatever it is..." was as far as he got.

The perp spun around wildly, only then realizing there were two men facing him, not one. In the briefest of moments he seemed to calculate his odds, and maybe figure he had a chance. Or maybe he was suicidal.

Maybe because he was right handed, or maybe for no reason at all, he chose the man on his right to shoot at. His first shot was head high and right missing the deputy's head by only six inches spraying chips of concrete, lacerating the deputy's left eyelid, blinding him instantly.
The CHP squeezed a round from his revolver, grazing the bone of the perps left shoulder.
The blinded deputy instinctively dropped to his knees and squeezed off three shots from his .45 toward his assailant, all going wild.
The perp was so distracted by the fire of the big piece he disregarded the CHP who took the opportunity to take a deep breath and carefully squeeze off another round from his .357. The round entered just below the left armpit exploding the heart and left lung, taking a turn and exiting just above the belly button.
The perp dropped his pistol and remained standing an additional second before toppling over like a ragdoll.

 

Whew. I have impressed myself. A torrid love scene followed by a shoot out with a bad guy.
Now it's past my bed time, but it was worth it.
I saddle up in the morning and head up north again.
Everybody have a good rest of the week and I'll be back as soon as I can.

 

As the refreshed couple buckled up and prepared to ride, Ricky's phoned chirped. Looking at the caller ID, he saw it was from his broker.

"What's up, Leo?" he answered.

"Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but where are you?"

"Some little place in Mississippi you probably never heard of. Why?"

"How quick can you be in Atlanta from there?"

"Oh, I'd say six hours if I really stand on it. Again, why?"

"Well, you have six hours and eight minutes. Here's the deal. If you make it by midnight, there's an extra five hundred in it for you."

Ricky did a quick mental calculation. Five hundred for him meant Leo picked up an extra grand on the load. Oh well, that was nothing new.

"This is what happened." Leo continued. "Publix, the big supermarket chain, is the buyer, and they want these strawberries on the store shelves in the morning. The sale ads already went out in the Sunday papers. They pride themselves on their fuits and vegetables and don't want to be embarrassed in front of Kroger and Bi-Lo. Apparently they take this stuff seriously. They have a crew on call to meet you at midnight to unload."

"Isn't this poor planning on their part?" Ricky asked.

"Not really. They were counting on the other truck to unload Saturday, but it crashed and burned in El Paso."

"Holy crap! Anybody I know?"

"I doubt it. It was a company truck out of Nebreaska. Team operation. I've used them before, decent outfit. Just rotten luck. A car spun out on wet pavement, slid into them. Direct hit on the fuel tank and it went up like a firebomb. Nothing left."

"Geez, Leo, that's horrible. Sorry to hear that. I better get cruisin'. You gonna pay my speeding tickets?"

"Just don't get caught. And if you do, that's what the five hundred is for."

"Gee thanks, Leo. Hey, I'm going home after this, so don't worry about me for a while. And I may want a load to south Florida in a few days. I'll let you know."

"Since when did you want to go down there? Never mind, just beat feet to Atlanta."

Pulling back out on US78, Ricky pressed the throttle more aggressively than usual, letting the big CAT rev. Joey was missing her old friend, her cell phone, which was now resting in peace at the bottom of a lake in Oklahoma.
Ricky handed her his Blackberry so she could play Brickbreaker.
Up ahead two trucks were side by side, and Ricky closed the gap quickly, turning on the Jake brake to scrub off some speed.
He was about to grumble until he realized the truck in the left lane was doing just over 75 and he had nothing to fuss about.
The trailer in front of him was a low slung drop deck hauling a load of small diameter steel pipe, neatly secured with chains and straps.
The tractor was a dark blue Kenworth W900 with a Studio Sleeper. MISSISSIPPI QUEEN was emblazoned across the back of the sleeper in fancy script. That seems familiar Ricky thought.

"Be out of your way in two shakes of a lambs tail, big ole Petercar." came a voice across the radio, which seemed familiar as well.

"Take your time big truck. You're doing a fine job." Ricky answered.

The Kenworth moved over and Ricky advanced up beside it. As the cabs were side by side, he looked over and briefly locked eyes with a pretty blonde lady in her mid thirties. As he cleared her hood the voice came back on the radio.

"I'll be ######. If it aint old Ricky-who-never-called-me-back-like-he-promised. Oops, me and my big mouth. I see you have company with you. No surprise there."

"Too late now. You have forever destroyed the sterling image this young lady had of me and revealed my sinister underside. Besides, I did call you that weekend, and some angry man answered the phone. Not only that, he started asking me a bunch of questions. So I did the honorable thing and hung up. Angry husbands and boyfriends aren't among my favorite people."

"That was my brother, silly. And he was angry because you woke him up. He works nights. But I guess I owe you an apology. I was staying at his house because my water line was burst and I couldn't get it fixed over the weekend. I had layed my phone next to his on the kitchen table and they are identical. I picked his up when I went to the store. I tried to call you back all day and finally gave up. I reckon you were scared to answer." she explained.

"You ###### right I was." Ricky said. "I didn't know what the hell was going on."

"Now how could anybody hurt you over the phone, silly. Anyway, looks like you are doing ok for yourself." she said, drawing a smile from Joey, not looking up from her video game. "Where are you going in such an all fired hurry anyway?"

"Atlanta by midnight or I turn into a pumpkin."

"Geez, you aint changed a bit. I will probably regret this, but I'll chase you across here, if I can keep up that is."

"Aw, hell. I know you can keep up. I remember that night in Texas."

"Yeah, right. I still say you were sandbagging. You just wanted to make me feel good."

"I always thought you were the one holding back."

"Are we still talking about trucking?"

"I thought we were. Just keep an eye on your rear view mirrors and I'll keep it under a hundred."

 

Harry felt somewhat human after his nap and was both surprised and disappointed that his phone didn't ring during his slumber. After a hurried shower he drove back to the station, stopping for coffee to go along the way.

Barely seated at his desk, Charlie Abbott, known as Abby to the his friends, appeared at the office doorway, wearing his familiar grin. Abby maintained that he was a blood relative of Bud Abbott, of Abbott and Costello fame, but nobody believed him. Related or not, he certainly aspired to be a comedian. He was prone to exaggerate when reporting even the most mundane occurence and often tried to work in a punch line, however lame. Harry learned years ago that it was best to just let Abby tell the story in his own way, for to interrupt ususally just prolonged the tale. Despite his sometimes annoying habits, Abbey was a good investigator. Harry considered him among the best he had ever known.

"What's up Abbey?" Harry asked. He could tell by the nature of Abby's grin that he was itching to share something.

"They got your boy." Abby said simply.

"One of the Mega Mart guys?"

"#### right."

"When? And why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't see the urgency, considering he is at the morgue. Besides, they just figured out who he was."

"Well, who was he..." Harry tried to ask, but it was useless.

"Now this is the funny part. This is the same guy the crackwhore tumbled on when they picked her up in Bakersfield. She couldn't wait to talk. Barely had the cuffs on her, I heard. Fat lot of good it did her. The hombre was in the middle of a shoot out by the time she was ratting him out."

"Shoot out?"

"That's right. The idiot got pulled over for a traffic violation and freaked out. Thing is, the APB hadn't been issued yet. He had a valid license and was sober. He would have just gotten a ticket and been on his way."

Abby finally settled down and gave Harry the details of the incident. It appears the dead gunman was the brother of the remaining robber on the loose. Three down and one to go. Harry mentally took Joey off the list.

"How is the deputy?" Harry asked, concerned whenever a fellow officer was hurt.

"The concrete chip was razor thin. Sliced through his eyelid, but barely grazed the eyeball. Enough to affect his vision though. They got these laser things now Harry, fix the guy right up."

Geez Abby. "What about the other eye?"

"Turns out it it was just concrete dust.They were able to wash it out. Be sore for a while. Between that and the blood covering the left eye he was blind there for a while. Blasting away at the perp with his .45. The CHP said that bought him a few seconds to level down on the creep."

"How does he look on the shooting?" Harry asked, knowing red tape was involved whenever an officer used his weapon in the line of duty.

"He looks good from what I heard. Especially considering he has a blind deputy for a witness. The other guys came around the corner just as the perp was laying down for his dirt nap."

"How's his record?"

"Solid cop. CHP for sixteen years. Last time he drew his piece was ten years ago. Stopped a car for weaving over on the five." Abby began. Oh no, here we go, Harry thought. "Three guys get out of the car. All big goobers. Been drinking too. Tillman was calm. Told them to get back in the car. He just needed to speak to the driver. They kept approaching. The biggest one, at least six five I heard, pulls this knife. Big knife. Like one of them Bowie knives. Eight inch blade, maybe a foot long. Now old Tillman is cool as a cucumber. Drew his pistol like Matt Dillon. Popped the guy in the kneecap. One shot. Pow! Now this clown looks like Andre the giant anyway, and he screams like a little girl. Then topples over like an old oak tree. Falls on that big Bowie knife and #### near cuts his own dick off. Know what his buddies did? That's right, they got back in the #### car."

Harry couldn't suppress a smile, even though that wasn't the first time Abby had told that very same story. And the bad guy and the knife grew with each telling. Harry wondered if it was really Tillman, but didn't want to belabor the point.

"Thanks for coming by and filling me in, Abby. If you will excuse me, I have to go follow up with somebody." thinking he should talk to Alberto.

 

Harry made a call down to Tulare and spoke to the police chief. As a courtesy, he gave Harry a rundown of the items in the suspect's possession. IDs and credit cards from the customers present during the robbery. The innocent citizens who were humiliated by being forced to lay on the floor at gunpoint. Citizens who were violated. Three were killed.

The young man's name was Charles Towers, street name Chico, even though he was an Anglo. According to Rhonda, the woman arrested in Bakersfield, Chico had a mildly retarded brother named Jake. She said Jake was a last minute stand-in for Diaz, who opted out at the last minute. The best decision he has ever made in his life, Harry thought. She said Jake shot and killed two customers for no apparent reason. They were cooperating fully. Harry was curious as to how she surmised this, since she was supposedly waiting in the car. A long interview process lay ahead. Preparing for trial was the most time consuming part of most cases.

Manuel confessed to killing the third victim. The pregnant woman. A life destroyed before it even began. Harry had a feeling Rhonda was covering for somebody, probably herself. He was going to have to work the crime scene to determine if she was really in the car the entire time. Everybody just assumed she was up to this point. Why would she cover for Manuel? He already fessed up to one. What's two more? Chico is dead. So blame it on the retarded guy? Oh well, plenty of time for that. The guy shouldn't be too hard to run to ground.

Harry made a last minute decision to visit Reginald Grofski.
The front door opened before he pressed the doorbell.
"Heard you pull up." Reggie said by way of greeting. "Come on in Harry."

"Thanks, Reggie. Hope I'm not intruding." Harry said.

"That's funny. I won't even pretend to be doing anything important. Have a drink with me, detective?" Reggie asked. motioning to the bottle of Scotch on the counter as they walked into the kitchen.

"Well, actually I'm on duty."

"That wasn't exactly a no. And you hesitated a little long. It's ok Harry, I am discreet about such matters. Besides, I'm a lonely man and really just looking to keep you here a little longer than you planned on staying. I have juice and soda as well."

Harry half smiled. "I'll have what your having. One ice cube."

"Coming up. You're a few years younger than me, Harry but I sense you are nearing retirement."

"Two more years will give me thirty. Full bennies. I count the days."

"Are you all alone?"

"Is it that that obvious?"

"Plenty of cops are. My brother worked homocide in Columbus, Ohio. Two divorces in twelve years. He quit trying after that. Nineteen years on the force and ate his gun."

"It happens. I'm a widower like you. Together twenty three years. Stroke. Christmas day, five years ago." Harry said, remorse in his eyes.

"Sorry, Harry. I'm embarrassed I steered us on to this topic.

"It's ok, Reggie. Get a couple of old guys together, it's bound to happen. Anyway, I'm here about your car. Thought you might be interested in the colorful history it has attained in it's absence."

"I'd be delighted to hear it, Harry."

Harry started from the beginning, with Manuel stealing the Accord, on to the Mega Mart robbery and Joey ditching it in Arizona with a blown up motor.

"The official reason of this visit is to tell you that your car is no longer an interest of the state and you are free to have it back at your leisure." Harry concluded.

"Which you could have done over the phone, but you chose to grace me with your company, for which I'm grateful. But I think I will call my insurance company and tell them to send me a check and they can do as they please with the vehicle. I'll tell them the thief blew it up. Interesting about the Joey girl, though. Hope she makes out alright."

"I think she will, Reggie. I think she will."