Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel by Warren Williams Page B
Authors: Warren Williams
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other men, and yelled at the farmer.
“Get your hands up asshole, get ‘em up. Move to the wall.” Albert complied, head down, no argument.
“Hands on the wall, high…higher. Spread your legs.” The overalls had several pockets to search but Billy Ray went through them in a matter of moments. “Turn around, take a seat on the floor. You got your handcuffs , Sheriff?”
“Yes I do, not like my young deputy that thinks they’re too cumbersome to wear on his belt, but we’re not gonna cuff him.”
Billy Ray’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “What? You gotta be shittin’ me. He was about to shoot me.”
“No he wasn’t. Check the scattergun. The hammers are down, un-cocked. Bet you a dollar there’s no shells in it either.”
Billy Ray retrieved the old twelve-gauge and broke it open, the barrels dipped toward the floor, exposing the chambers. Empty.
Lester glared at the farmer. “What we have here is a Class-A bully, a half-wit that loves to throw his weight around and intimidate everyone he comes in contact with, especially his wife and daughter because they’re so handy. It makes you feel like a big man, doesn’t it Albert?” Parker said nothing.
“Low-life’s like old Albert here are only tryin’ to cover their inadequacies and cowardice, using aggression against people who can’t or won’t fight back. You bit off a little more than you can chew this time didn’t you, Albert?”
Parker remained silent and continued to sit flat on the floor, legs extended, arms folded across his lap.
“I knew we should have brought the sedan ,” Bill Ray said. “I don’t think all of us can get in the front seat of the pickup.”
“Oh, we’re not takin’ him in ,” Lester said. “ Albert’s not a criminal, not really. He’s just a pathetic fool that tried to play big man once too often and with the wrong people. Probably been years since anyone has stood up to him. Thing is, if we charge him and put him in jail, the county would have to feed him until the trial unless someone comes up with bail money, not much chance of that . He might end up in McAlester State Prison—Big Mac—for a year or two, that’s possible, threatening an officer of the law with a weapon like he did. His poor wife would have to give up the farm, probably go on welfare, and no tellin’ what would happen with their daughter.”
“ If she’s still alive,” Billy Ray added, watching the man on the floor, hoping for a reaction. But Albert Parker had no response, his dull eyes unfocused, staring into space, and blinking like a bullfrog in a hailstorm.
Chapter 8
The parking lot of the Pirate’s Den hadn’t changed much since Lester and Billy Ray had passed by earlier in the day. The old clunker Chevy hadn’t moved , looking like it could become a permanent fixture , but was now joined by a black Dodge pickup, also raggedy and rusted. The tires were mostly bald and it was missing the tailgate and rear bumper —the license tag duct-taped to the window. A dozen e mpty beer cans littered the bed.
Billy Ray pointed at the cans. “Strange isn’t it, how a bunch of empties can stay in the bed like that even when there’s no tail gate? Somehow, the back draft keeps them in I guess, or most of them anyway. You know the truck?”
“I believe I do,” Lester said. “Let’s us go in and chat for a spell.” At the door, he turned to the deputy. “You still got a live round in that pistol of yours?”
Billy Ray nodded, realizing he had made another mistake. He drew the gun and popped the magazine into his hand. The Glock had no safety as such, no button to push or lever to slide. If he should accidently pull the trigger, the forty-caliber slug would slam into something or somebody, ready or not. He jacked the cartridge out, returned it to its rightful place at the top of the stack, slammed the magazine back home, and holstered the weapon. Lester gave a nod of approval and opened the door.
Inside, the Pirate’s Den
“Get your hands up asshole, get ‘em up. Move to the wall.” Albert complied, head down, no argument.
“Hands on the wall, high…higher. Spread your legs.” The overalls had several pockets to search but Billy Ray went through them in a matter of moments. “Turn around, take a seat on the floor. You got your handcuffs , Sheriff?”
“Yes I do, not like my young deputy that thinks they’re too cumbersome to wear on his belt, but we’re not gonna cuff him.”
Billy Ray’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “What? You gotta be shittin’ me. He was about to shoot me.”
“No he wasn’t. Check the scattergun. The hammers are down, un-cocked. Bet you a dollar there’s no shells in it either.”
Billy Ray retrieved the old twelve-gauge and broke it open, the barrels dipped toward the floor, exposing the chambers. Empty.
Lester glared at the farmer. “What we have here is a Class-A bully, a half-wit that loves to throw his weight around and intimidate everyone he comes in contact with, especially his wife and daughter because they’re so handy. It makes you feel like a big man, doesn’t it Albert?” Parker said nothing.
“Low-life’s like old Albert here are only tryin’ to cover their inadequacies and cowardice, using aggression against people who can’t or won’t fight back. You bit off a little more than you can chew this time didn’t you, Albert?”
Parker remained silent and continued to sit flat on the floor, legs extended, arms folded across his lap.
“I knew we should have brought the sedan ,” Bill Ray said. “I don’t think all of us can get in the front seat of the pickup.”
“Oh, we’re not takin’ him in ,” Lester said. “ Albert’s not a criminal, not really. He’s just a pathetic fool that tried to play big man once too often and with the wrong people. Probably been years since anyone has stood up to him. Thing is, if we charge him and put him in jail, the county would have to feed him until the trial unless someone comes up with bail money, not much chance of that . He might end up in McAlester State Prison—Big Mac—for a year or two, that’s possible, threatening an officer of the law with a weapon like he did. His poor wife would have to give up the farm, probably go on welfare, and no tellin’ what would happen with their daughter.”
“ If she’s still alive,” Billy Ray added, watching the man on the floor, hoping for a reaction. But Albert Parker had no response, his dull eyes unfocused, staring into space, and blinking like a bullfrog in a hailstorm.
Chapter 8
The parking lot of the Pirate’s Den hadn’t changed much since Lester and Billy Ray had passed by earlier in the day. The old clunker Chevy hadn’t moved , looking like it could become a permanent fixture , but was now joined by a black Dodge pickup, also raggedy and rusted. The tires were mostly bald and it was missing the tailgate and rear bumper —the license tag duct-taped to the window. A dozen e mpty beer cans littered the bed.
Billy Ray pointed at the cans. “Strange isn’t it, how a bunch of empties can stay in the bed like that even when there’s no tail gate? Somehow, the back draft keeps them in I guess, or most of them anyway. You know the truck?”
“I believe I do,” Lester said. “Let’s us go in and chat for a spell.” At the door, he turned to the deputy. “You still got a live round in that pistol of yours?”
Billy Ray nodded, realizing he had made another mistake. He drew the gun and popped the magazine into his hand. The Glock had no safety as such, no button to push or lever to slide. If he should accidently pull the trigger, the forty-caliber slug would slam into something or somebody, ready or not. He jacked the cartridge out, returned it to its rightful place at the top of the stack, slammed the magazine back home, and holstered the weapon. Lester gave a nod of approval and opened the door.
Inside, the Pirate’s Den
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