The Big Guy Chapter 5

The Big Guy
Chapter 5

I was clean-shaven, with a double dose of antiperspirant in my pits and a new shirt with wheat-colored linen slacks. I wore my sweater to tuck my CZ into a holster in the small of my back. I had brushed Max before showering, so we looked spiffy when we walked to my Explorer.

“Lucy, you don’t drive an old clunker like you told me that first rainy night.”

“Umm…no, I don’t. I have a Mercedes AMG convertible. It was in the shop that day, and I had a loaner I knew nothing about. I was stranded there.
Sorry; I won’t fib to you ever again. I promise.” She put her hand in mine and squeezed. Somehow, over the past ten days, Lucy had become much better looking—either that or she was taking much better care of herself.

Lucy gave me directions, and I turned left onto a private road I had passed several times during my explorations. It was long and winding, more than a mile, and we’d gone more than halfway before we saw a house off to the right and roughly a hundred feet from the street—Lucy’s house. It was big—no, imposing—with a vast front lawn that looked perfect for lawn bowling or tennis. It was flat and level, and I couldn’t find a single weed as I slowly drove past.

“How big is that house, Lucy?”

“Well, it has a big living room, a bigger family room, a library, a dining room, and an eat-in kitchen. There are two powder rooms—one in the front of the house and one at the rear, and there’s a big, screened porch in the back that leads to a broad patio and pool. Upstairs, there are six bedrooms and five full baths. I also have a three-car garage.”

“And working in the diner?”

“Um…I don’t do anything much there other than say hello and talk to friends of my family.”

I laughed. That explained a lot—like why she could skip out on work whenever she wanted, not that I was complaining. A minute later, I drove up a long brick driveway that turned into a broad curve in front of the house. It was even more significant than Lucy’s. She showed me where to park, and then I opened the doors for her and Max. He walked in at heel to Lucy’s left.

We were in a big vestibule—big enough to hold a grand piano—when an older black man in a black suit and tie greeted us. I assumed correctly that he was the butler. “Samuel, this is Marshal Cahill, and this is his dog, Max.”

“Welcome, Marshal, Miss Lucille. Your parents are on the patio, Miss.” He stepped aside and left us to greet another couple. Lucy took my hand and led Max and me to the rear of the house. I could have picked out her father even without Lucy as my guide. He was holding court and smugly stating his views on some hot controversy to the avid audience. He was tall with silver hair and was wearing one of those shirts made to be worn un-tucked. Mine wasn’t tucked in either, but that was to hide my pistol.

Lucy led me over to meet her father. “Daddy, this is Marshal Matt Cahill. Matt, my father, Jonathan Bascomb.” We shook hands, and he tried to squeeze my hand—an apparent attempt at dominance but failed. Anyone else, I might have broken the bones in his hand, but I’d be asking this man an important question later, so I wanted to stay on his good side.

“I always appreciate a firm handshake, Sir; it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ve heard good things about you, Marshal. I especially appreciate how you apprehended those criminals Friday afternoon; I assume this is your dog. Max, isn’t it?”

“Yes, this is Max, but don’t try to pet him unless I give him the okay.”

“Really? Is he that dangerous?”

“He can be and will if he sees someone threatening Lucy or me.”

“Lucy? I think you mean Lucille.”

“I’ve always called her Lucy, and she has never objected. When she does, I’ll call her something else…whatever she wants.”

“It sounds like you plan on sticking around, Marshal.”

I had to laugh. “I’ve heard you have an excellent network of informants, so I’m sure you know that I’ve been offered the position of chief of police. I’m also sure you know that the official appointment will be Tuesday evening, so—yes—I am thinking of sticking around, probably for a long time. Meanwhile, why don’t you call me Matt?”

Now, it was his turn to chuckle. “I like a direct man, Matt. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to Lucille’s mother.” I walked with him to a group of women, and again, I was sure which one was his wife before the introduction. She looked almost identical to Lucy except a trifle heavier.

“My dear,” my future father-in-law began, “I’d like you to meet Matt Cahill…Marshal Cahill and this huge beast is his dog, Max.”

“I’m surprised, Mr. Cahill, that you would bring an animal to such a gathering,” she said indignantly.

“I also took him into the diner all week, and it was because of him that we apprehended two armed robbers and ensured the safety of almost forty people, including your daughter. Besides, Lucy told me to bring him.”

“Lucy? Lucy? Why would you take such liberties with my daughter?” I was serious on the outside, but inside I was laughing my ass off. I wondered what she would think of my liberties with Lucy.

“I have always called her Lucy, Mrs. Bascomb, and not only has she never objected, but she encouraged the familiarity.”

I might have continued, but Lucy stepped between us to intervene. “Mother—what a stupid thing to argue about. Matt is right. I encouraged him to call me Lucy and told him to bring Max. I think you’ll find him better behaved than many of your other guests. However, we’ll leave if you would prefer.”

“Well…I wouldn’t want you to leave, darling.”

“Matt brought me, so I’ll be leaving with him.” From the expression on her mother’s face, I gathered that she wasn’t accustomed to having Lucy—or anyone else—speak that way to her. Fortunately, her father intervened to say we were welcome and hoped we would enjoy our afternoon. Lucy took my hand and walked me to the bar.

I ordered a Coke with a lot of ice, and Lucy asked for an iced tea. She then spoke quietly to the bartender, who left, returning a minute later with a large bowl of water for Max. I placed it at the patio's edge, where it wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. Then Lucy retook my hand, and we mingled, speaking with several members of the city council and a few folks I recognized from the diner. My appointment as chief of police was an open secret. The council met in what is known as an “executive session,” which is supposed to be private and confidential. Executive sessions are usually reserved for personnel and legal issues or negotiations with labor unions, few of which exist in the southern states.

The household staff served as waiters and waitresses, bringing boiled shrimp and little pieces of toast with brie and caviar, among other offerings. This was the most extravagant barbeque I’d ever been a part of. Several times, someone dropped a canapé and jumped back, expecting to see Max run over them to get a free snack. I hoped they weren’t too disappointed because he completely ignored them. Lucy rewarded him by holding several fried scallops out for him to sample. He looked at me for approval, then lapped his treat off Lucy’s hand once I had nodded. She rewarded him with a hug, which Max enjoyed. His tail wagged wildly for several minutes while Lucy petted and scratched his ears.

That was when a woman asked, “Isn’t that a dangerous dog? I can’t believe you would have anything to do with such a beast.”

Lucy looked up and replied, “He can be dangerous, but I’ve seen kids play with him for an hour or more, and I know he’d never hurt me.” As if to prove her point, Max licked Lucy’s face as she grinned and laughed, hugging Max even tighter. I ended it by helping Lucy to her feet and telling Max to heel. It was time to eat.

Lucy and I went in to use the bathroom while Max stood guard. I washed Lucy’s face, and she gave me a big, wet kiss. “I knew you wouldn’t take my parents’ shit, Matt. They can be such jerks sometimes.”

“They’re parents; it’s to be expected. Should I tell your father that his bartender is stealing from him?”

“Huh? What? How?”

“Your father buys excellent quality booze, but the bartender substitutes cheap stuff. He poured Ardbeg—a cheap scotch—into a bottle with a Johnny Walker Blue label. I’ll bet he sells the good stuff to friends. I won’t do anything now during dinner, but I think your dad and I will have to check it out once we’re done.”

“Damn, Matt, you’re so smart.” Then she kissed me again, and we walked out, startling an older woman as we passed her en route to the patio for dinner. I held Lucy’s chair for her and then sat next to her, narrowly beating another man I’d seen talking with Mrs. Bascomb earlier. I wondered what that was about.

The first course was a family-style salad with many tomatoes and green peppers in a vinaigrette dressing. I picked up the bowl, but rather than helping myself to a hearty portion, I passed it to a woman to my right. I offered to toss it and serve her, and she graciously accepted. Lucy introduced me, and we had an exciting discussion about law enforcement. Mostly, they wanted to know how I knew the two at the diner were robbers.

I explained that much police work depended on one’s ability to observe people. “For example, Bill, I noticed you have a limp in your left leg. You try to hide it, and you do a good job, but to someone who is a trained observer, it’s self-evident. I also noticed earlier, Jane, that you’re left-handed but have trouble with your pinky. Probably a problem with the nerves in your arm.”

“What did you notice about me, Marshal?”

“Well, one of your shoes has a thicker sole and heel than the other. I suspect that you either had a congenital disability or an injury that impacted the length of your left leg.”

“My God! I think we have Sherlock Holmes at the table. You’re right. I was in an automobile accident when I was six, and my leg was broken in three places. It’s now an inch shorter than the other. I doubt that anyone else ever noticed.”

“Well, I’m married to Adam, and it was more than a year ago when I noticed. You’re quite extraordinary, Marshal. Or should we call you Matt? I’ve heard some rumors you’ll be our new police chief.”

“I can’t comment one way or another, May.” I saw that Lucy would comment, but my hand on her leg told her not to say a word.

“I do have to say, Matt, that your dog is extremely well-behaved. I wouldn’t know he was here if I didn’t see him. Is it okay to pet him?”

“Not now--if you don’t mind--and don’t try unless I’m with you. I had to hold Lucy’s hand the first time she got into my car. Max is extremely protective of me and now Lucy. Unlike me, he’s always on duty.” I received the salad bowl from Lucy and finally scooped a significant portion into my bowl. It was as good as I had expected with fresh, crisp vegetables, and the dressing was just perfect, in my opinion.

Dinner consisted of pulled pork, ribs, fresh vegetables, and baked potatoes. I noticed immediately that they had been cooked in salt. I’ve always found that to be an excellent method because I enjoy eating the skin even more than the flesh of the tuber. I was also pleased to see a variety of barbeque sauces on the table. Lucy picked a mild, sweet sauce, but I liked the hottest. It was great on the tender pulled pork and even better on the baby's back ribs. I took an ear of fresh corn and several grilled tomatoes for my vegetables.

Discussion continued during dinner, and I enjoyed the company of the people at our table. Not surprisingly, Max sat behind Lucy, looking left and right to ensure our safety. Looking across the patio, I noticed the man who had tried to usurp my seat engaged in a long whispering conversation with Lucy’s mother. I felt there would be a confrontation with him before I took Lucy back to the trailer—oops, mobile home.

Dessert was ice cream, almost a tradition at barbeques my aunt and uncle held, with homemade pie running a close second. I asked for chocolate and strawberry and received a scoop of each. Once I was done, I excused myself and spoke with Lucy’s father. “May I have a word, Jonathan?”

“Of course, Matt,” he replied, standing as he excused himself from the table. He had taken two steps away when I spoke next.

“I was wondering if you wanted to know that your bartender is stealing from you.”

“How? There’s no money involved, not even tips.”

“That much is true, but I’m sure you buy top-shelf liquors, and he’s pouring them into empty bottles and substituting cheap stuff. I’d bet he later sells the good stuff to friends at a discount. It’s a good way to make a few hundred bucks on every job, and it’s hard to get caught.”

“How did you catch him?”

“I’ve seen this scam before, but usually on a grander scale. Shall we take a look behind the bar? We’ll find a bunch of empty bottles and a funnel or two in addition to the cheap stuff you’re drinking.” I signaled Max, and he trotted to my side.

“Excuse us,” I said to the bartender. “We just want to take a peek behind the bar.”

“I don’t think you should, sir. I doubt the homeowner would approve.”

“Well,” Jonathan began, “I’m the homeowner and the one who’s paying you, so I suggest you step aside.”

The guy’s nervousness gave him away, and I thought he might try to run. “You can run, but can you outrun my dog? Keep in mind that he’ll stop you by biting your leg first and then your neck. Right, Max?” His low, barely audible growl settled the issue.

There was a cloth covering the rear of the bar, and once I slid it aside, we could see the evidence of his crime. There were more than a dozen bottles with homemade labels taped on. One said “JW Blue,” and others said “Grey Goose” and “Skyy,” both excellent and expensive vodkas. Others said “Tanqueray” and “Bombay Sapphire.” Among the bourbons were “Jefferson’s Presidential” and “Kentucky Gentleman,” sold for more than $300 a bottle. There were also bottles of expensive brandies and cognacs being held after dinner. Also clearly visible were several ultra-cheap store-brand liquors.

Jonathan Bascomb’s face turned a shade of deep red, but before he spoke, I whipped out my ID and began to recite the Miranda warning. “You can remain silent or tell us who is behind this plot. In most states, you’ve changed enough bottles for this to be considered grand theft. Something tells me you’re not in this alone.”

“Please…I’m a college student. If I get sent to jail, my folks will kill me, and I’ll lose my scholarship.”

“Fine, who are you working for?”

“Mr. Haynes.”

“Carl Haynes, the city councilman?”

“No, I think his name is Jeremy. He runs a lot of scams.”

“Like what?” I wasn’t about to let the matter drop until I had every bit of information I could get on this rat.

“I know for a fact that he deals pot and meth. My roommate bought some from him. I also heard you can get pills like Oxy from him.”

“Jonathan, I think we need to take this inside.” He agreed, and as I turned, I saw Lucy trying desperately to fend off her mother’s “friend.” Fortunately, I had just the solution. “Max,” I said as I pointed at her. “Lucy…now.” Max looked, saw Lucy in trouble, and sprinted to her. A second later, her “suitor” couldn’t back away fast enough. Even Jonathan laughed as we led the bartender into Jonathan’s office.

His name was Jack Perkins, and he was a student at Memphis University. He wrote a statement outlining his involvement, how much he was being paid, and how he would get the illegal bottles to Haynes. Once his statement had been dated, signed, and witnessed, I took a photo of him and his driver’s license and sent him back to work. “We must sit on this, Jonathan, until I become chief. Then we’ll blow this asshole out of the water.
If we do it now, his father will use his influence to quash the deal.”

“I agree. This is exactly why I’ve thought we needed an outsider in the position.” He began to walk out, but I asked for a few more minutes of his time.

“I think you know that I’ve been staying with Lucy, and we’ve been seeing a lot of each other over the past ten days.”

“Okay.”

“Early last week, she asked me how I felt about her, and I told her that I could see myself falling for her big time, but it was too soon to tell her I loved her. I was wrong. I am in love with her…very much.”

“I see. How does she feel about you?”

“The same; at least, that’s what she’s told me.”

“Then I guess you’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“That’s a subject I’ll never discuss with you or anyone else. The bottom line is that I’ve asked her to marry me, and she has agreed, but she told me I had to ask you for her hand. That’s what I’m doing now.”

“What happens if I say no?”

“Nothing, except I’ll probably not get the chief’s job, and Lucy will move to Wilmington, North Carolina, to be with me. I have a small apartment in Carolina Beach. I’m sure you’d like her nearby because we’ve agreed to start a family as soon as possible. I’m sure you know I have my own money, so I have no interest in hers.”

“I guess I don’t have many options, Matt, so welcome to our family.” He rose, shook my hand, and laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“My wife has been encouraging Donald Craig to pursue Lucille. He’s the one your dog chased away. Can I announce the engagement tonight?”





To be continued