The Floating Outfit 47 Read online

  ‘Aye,’ the First Deputy supported. ‘Always use a nickname you settle between you. He’s your man and it’s up to you to give him all the cover you can.’

  ‘I’ll remember, sir,’ Brad promised, annoyed at having forgotten the same rule he had been given by Cord.

  ‘Tell your snitch to keep on the ear,’ Tragg instructed, feeling sure the mistake would not be repeated.

  ‘There’s one thing, though,’ McCall went on, sharing the sentiment. ‘Doing it doesn’t mean you can miss out on the Range Qualification Shoot tomorrow.’

  ‘As if we’d do a thing like that,’ Cord said with an air of injured innocence. ‘There’s nothing I like better than the Range Qualification Shoot.’

  ‘Unless it’s filling in reports,’ McCall suggested and glanced pointedly at the empty wire tray marked ‘In’ on his desk. ‘Which reminds me—!’

  ‘We’re just going to make it out now,’ Cord asserted, knowing the meeting was at an end.

  ‘When my partner says, we,’ Brad went on. ‘He means me.’

  ‘R.H.I.P., boy,’ Cord pointed out, using the abbreviation for “Rank has its privileges”. Let’s go and get her done.’

  ‘You know something?’ Deputy Sheriff Tom Cord remarked. ‘Even though the steering wheel’s on the wrong side and I haven’t used a switch-stick for more years than I care to remember, I could get to like driving this lil feller.’

  ‘That runs in your family,’ Deputy Sheriff Brad Counter replied. ‘Alice’s been dropping hints about how she’d like to take it for a spin.’

  Contacting Willard Cosset by arrangement after the Watch ended the previous afternoon, Brad had paid him for the information and asked if he would pass the word should Alonzo Nevada make another delivery. Completing their part in the Range Qualification Shoot earlier than anticipated that morning and having nothing urgent demanding their attention, they were going back to Gusher City by a circuitous route. This allowed Cord to drive the blond giant’s open-topped, imported M.G. MGB convertible for the first time. They had selected the less direct route as it did not have the flow of traffic which would be using the freeway. This had been considered advisable because the blond giant had not had the vehicle converted to left hand drive and his partner was no longer accustomed to changing the gears manually.

  ‘She always did have good taste,’ Cord drawled.

  ‘Why, sure,’ Brad agreed, although neither he nor his partner imagined that tragic circumstances would cause him to form a team with Woman Deputy Alice Fayde in the not too distant future. 5

  ‘Cen-Con to any units in Drayton area!’ came an announcement on the two-way radio installed in the car and their conversation was quickly brought to a close.

  ‘Deputies Cord and Counter by,’ the blond giant said, scooping up the microphone and making the required answer. ‘We are two miles west of Drayton. Over.’

  ‘Go to the Bergen Pet-Meats Packing Plant,’ instructed the Dispatcher for the Central Control at the Department of Public Safety Building in Gusher City. ‘We’ve had a Six-Two-Nine saying there’s going to be a protest outside and something more than just shouting and waving banners is in the air.’

  ‘Will do,’ Brad assented, knowing the number quoted meant the report had come from the local Field Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations and was coded from the numbers in the alphabet of the initials. ‘Over and out.’

  ‘And you wanted to take a nice, quiet drive in the country,’ Cord sniffed, despite the suggestion having been made by himself. ‘I wonder what the banner wavers want with Bergen’s?’

  ‘Animal Rights freaks, likely,’ Brad guessed. ‘Some of them are real mean sons-of-bitches, although they mostly stick to mailing bombs, or doing their thing when they won’t be seen.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to us to keep the peace,’ the older deputy declared. ‘We’ll soon be able to see what’s doing. It’ll be in sight once we’ve topped this rim.’

  As was predicted, the source of the possible trouble came into view as the deputies reached the top of the slope their vehicle was climbing. Just below the rim, the road they were on joined another somewhat wider one. Although Brad had not been in the area before he had no difficulty in locating the Bergen Pet-Meats Packing Plant. It was the only human habitation within their range of vision. Comprised of half a dozen not too large corrugated iron buildings, surrounded by a high chain link fence, there was nothing impressive about it. Nevertheless, clearly it was the object of a gathering to protest about its activities, or perhaps its presence in the area.

  Some fifty or so people of various ages, many carrying placards which could not be read from the deputies’ position, were already forming up on the wide road in front of the closed front main gates. What was more, judging by the group of men assembled just inside the fence, the owners were taking measures to protect their property. Whether by design or chance, the protesters were blocking the road which descended the steep incline to form an intersection with the wider one they would have used if they had come from Gusher City.

  Already a crew from the local television network had their equipment set up to record what was happening for the evening newscast, and the deputies guessed representatives from the County’s two newspapers, especially the ‘liberal’ orientated Daily Reflex, would be present. However, the possibility of media coverage did not particularly interest either of them at that moment. Their sole concern was how to deal with the situation. Nor was reaching a decision helped by there being no sign of other official vehicles around to act as support.

  ‘Hot damn!’ Cord ejaculated, removing his gaze from the scene at the foot of the slope. While slowing the M.G., he turned his eyes to where a vehicle topped the rim to their right and, travelling fast, began to go down the slope. Like the packing plant, the vehicle suggested that the owners had a less than munificent financial standing in the area. It was an ex-U.S. Army four ton, 6x6, Diamond T truck with the name, ‘BERGEN PET-MEATS PACKING PLANT’ inscribed in faded white letters upon its grubby, still G.I. ‘dark earth’ colored, sides. ‘That jasper’s sure in a hurry to get to work!’

  ‘Which Jasper?’ Brad barked, also staring at the vehicle and not caring for the implications of the sight. ‘There’s nobody’n the cab!’

  ‘We’ve got to get those protesters out of the way!’ the older deputy asserted, pressing the accelerator so the M.G. increased its speed.

  ‘There’ll be no time for that,’ the blond giant estimated. ‘Their kind won’t be willing to listen to two lawmen!’

  ‘You’re right,’ Cord admitted, wishing he and his companion were in civilian clothes and not their uniforms as required by the Range Qualification Shoot they had attended. ‘What the—?’

  ‘Put us alongside it!’ Brad requested, the part question having been caused by the older deputy seeing him unfasten his seat-belt. ‘I’m going to make a stab at getting into the cab!’

  ‘You’re loco!’ Cord declared, but started to do as he was asked.

  ‘Hell,’ Brad countered—no pun intended—slipping free from the belt. ‘Fellers do it all the time in movies and television cop shows.’

  While speaking, the blond giant eased himself upwards. By the time he was standing erect, balancing himself against the movement beneath him, the M.G. was ranging alongside the truck. For the first occasion since he had bought it, he wished he had done as the salesman suggested and had had it converted from the British right hand drive. Having refrained from authorizing the modification meant he was looking into the fortuitously open window of the seat for the passenger and not the driver’s seat.

  ‘This’ll teach you not to be so god-damned impatient,’ Brad mused, measuring the distance separating the two vehicles with his eyes. Then he raised his voice and continued, ‘Get going as fast as you can when I jump and try to make those yoyos move, just in case—!’

  ‘Don’t you dare have an “in case”!’ the older deputy replied, his deep concern showing under the gruffness of his voice. �
�And that’s an order!’

  ‘Yo, boss!’ the blond giant answered, giving the traditional U.S. Army assent to a command. ‘I’m going on “three”. One! Two! THREE!’

  Completing the count, Brad placed a foot on the door of the M.G. and, trying not to look down at the surface of the road rushing below him, he thrust himself over the side. Considering the short distance actually involved, hurtling across the intervening space seemed to take a very long time. However, while doing so, he felt gratitude to the manufacturers for having equipped the cab with a sturdy and fairly wide running board which he believed would make his task just a little easier. Then he arrived at his destination. To the accompaniment of a silent, ‘Thanks!’ intended for whoever had left the window open, he thrust his arms through and hooked them over the bottom. An instant later, his feet found the solid metal of the running board and, except for entering the vehicle, he knew he had completed the first part of his task successfully.

  ‘God damn it, this time Tom was right!’ the blond giant breathed, glancing over his shoulder and discovering that his partner was already pulling ahead. Starting to open the door and maneuver himself inside the cab, he went on, ‘I must have been loco to even think of trying this and I’ll never watch another god-damned movie or television “cop” show!’

  The sentiment, uttered to help calm him down, was barely completed before Brad drew himself thankfully inside the vehicle. What he saw while moving across the seat informed him that the empty condition of the cab was no accident. The steering wheel had been jammed by a forked stick and another held the accelerator depressed. However, a glance ahead warned him that he must not waste time pondering over the discovery.

  As soon as the blond giant was gripping the steering wheel with one hand, he knocked away the sticks and placed his foot on the liberated accelerator. With that done, he made a very rapid assessment of the situation. Whoever had abandoned the truck must have quit the cab before it reached the top of the rim and, of necessity, had left it in gear. However, this did not do much to lessen the danger. While the engine being in gear had applied some restraint, in addition to the accelerator having been jammed fully down, the weight of vehicle and its cargo was causing it to build up more speed as it made the descent.

  Brad was an excellent driver and, since becoming a deputy, had added to his skill by handling trucks as well as cars and motor cycles over the Department of Public Safety’s exacting and demanding Emergency Vehicles Operations Course. Nevertheless, despite having successfully completed the transfer from the M.G., he did not consider his present task to be any sinecure. While they were driving towards their destination, Cord had told him something of the Bergen Pet-Meats Packing Plant. Run on a shoestring budget, it did not compete with the major companies dealing in similar commodities. The majority of its products were shipped into Mexico where, according to rumor, they were much used for food by the poorer sections of the community instead of being given to dogs and cats. The assertion was never proven, but the Rockabye County Department of Health’s inspectors made regular examinations of the plant to ensure that, despite the products used being of a lower quality than was considered acceptable for human consumption, a suitable standard of hygiene was carried out and the goods would at least be safely edible for animals. In spite of this, he doubted whether the company spent much money on maintaining its machinery in top condition. For one thing, even if it had been manufactured since World War II ended, the truck had not come from the production line recently.

  While envisaging the difficulties, the blond giant was never a man to be plagued by uncertainties and self-doubt. He knew he must act and the longer he delayed, the greater grew the chances of failing to carry out his intentions. With that in mind, he eased his foot on the accelerator and used the clutch, then the stick-switch, to crash into a lower gear. However, when he began to apply the foot brake tentatively, he received a gratifying surprise. Bearing in mind the shoestring operation of the plant, he had not expected much assistance from the brakes. However, they responded to his manipulation. A moment’s thought explained why this was probably was the case. A company like Bergen’s would know that the eyes of more than just the Health Department were likely to be kept on it. Therefore, as he now realized, they would ensure their vehicles were maintained at a standard which would satisfy inspection by the Highway Patrol, or other law enforcement authorities.

  Regardless of his gratitude, Brad was all too aware that the danger was still not passed. Looking through the fly-splashed windscreen, he could see that Cord was already almost at the foot of the slope. What was more, either his partner had contrived to alert the protesters to their peril, or somebody else had seen the truck careering down the slope and beat him to it. Whichever was the reason, discarding their banners, they were hurriedly scattering.

  ‘Now,’ the blond giant told himself under his breath, noticing with relief that Cord had swung the M.G. aside before bringing it to a stop and was getting out to open the boot, in which they had placed their hats and night-sticks before leaving the firing range. ‘All I have to do is stop this son-of-a-bitch without a skid that could roll it over, or hitting the front gates!’

  Putting to use all his ability, Brad succeeded in doing as he wished. However, it was a very near thing. The front bumper was only six inches from the gates when his skilful manipulation of the hand and foot brakes slowed and then brought the heavy vehicle to a stop. Letting out his breath in a long whoosh, he listened to something he had never expected to hear—especially when he was wearing his uniform and easily identified as a peace officer—applause and shouts of praise coming from a group of protesters. Waiting for a few seconds to compose himself, he contrived to climb from the cab as if boarding a truck in such a fashion was an everyday occurrence. However, pleasing as the approbation of the protesters was, he considered the expression of relief on his partner’s normally impassive face to be far more satisfactory.

  ‘Like you ordered, boss, no “in case”,’ the blond giant drawled, accepting the uniform Stetson and night-stick which Cord had fetched from the M.G. ‘Do me a favor, though.’

  ‘Name it and she’s done,’ the older peace officer replied.

  ‘Please don’t tell me one of your jokes to show you figure I’ve done good,’ Brad requested, such being his partner’s way of expressing approbation. Slipping the night-stick into its belt loop and donning his hat while he was speaking, he continued, ‘That way you’ll make me a happy man!’

  ‘Howdy you-all, Mr. Chorley,’ Deputy Sheriff Tom Cord said, getting down to the business at hand by looking at the stocky, balding middle-aged man in a not too expensive, but neat, business suit and with a pewter belt buckle inscribed, ‘REDNECK AND PROUD OF IT’, who was hurrying towards the main gate. Waving his right hand towards the truck, he went on, ‘I reckon this’s yours.’

  ‘It’s ours all right,’ the manager of the Bergen Pet-Meats Packing Plant confirmed in a Texan’s drawl, his florid face showing a mixture of anger and puzzlement. ‘How the hell did it get back here?’

  ‘Now that’s a right smart question,’ Cord admitted dryly. ‘And I reckon there’s more than you would like to know the answer.’

  ‘Where the hell’s Solly?’ Oscar Chorley demanded, glaring from Deputy Sheriff Brad Counter to the now empty cab. ‘The driver?’

  ‘He wasn’t there when we first saw the heap coming over the hill,’ Cord replied. ‘Fact being, nobody else was either.’

  ‘Then where the hell’s he got to?’ the manager growled.

  ‘Maybe he was told to send the truck down here,’ one of the protesters yelled and there was an ugly rumbling of concurrence with the suggestion.

  ‘It’d left here before any of these scum-rades arrived, deputy,’ Chorley shouted. ‘And why the hell they’ve come, I don’t know. We never use whale meat, it’s too god damned expensive.’

  ‘Did you try telling them that?’ Cord inquired.

  ‘Their kind never listen, unless it comes direct
from Moscow,’ the manager answered, looking at the protesters with disgust plain on his face. ‘They’ve just come to make trouble.’

  ‘Could be,’ Cord admitted, then glanced pointedly at the workmen who were forming a loose half circle behind Chorley. They were showing signs of being ready to repel any attempts at forcible entry and, judging from the objects they were grasping, some clearly did not intend to restrict their resistance to bare hands. ‘And you look like you’re all set to make some back.’

  ‘A man’s entitled to protect his home, or place of work,’ the manager asserted.

  ‘That depends on how he goes about it,’ Cord answered, wishing he could hear sirens announcing the approach of vehicles ordered as “back up” by Central Control. However, feeling sure the precaution had been taken by the man he was addressing, even though it was not the manager’s call which was responsible for himself and his partner arriving, he went on, ‘You called in for us to come and take care of things, so leave us do it. Which I’ll feel a whole heap easier was you to tell those fellers back of you to head inside and get on with their work.’

  ‘With only just the two of you here?’ Chorley growled, having no reason to suspect the presence of the deputies was not in response to the telephone call he had told his secretary to make when the protesters began to gather. ‘All those scum-rades’ll come busting in like they was threatening to before you got here.’

  ‘My partner and me’ll ’tend to them if they do,’ Cord stated. ‘And there’s more badges on the way. You can make the first move at keeping things peaceable by sending those fellers back to work.’

  ‘But—!’ the manager began, then reconsidered. He was all too aware that his establishment was not held in high regard by the County’s authorities and he had no desire to antagonize a man whose official position could offer numerous opportunities of creating difficulties for him. He was already facing attempts and threats by a labor union seeking to force him to allow the enlistment of the members of his work force whether they wished to do so or not and, in fact, he felt sure they were responsible for the presence of the protesters. Therefore, he did not also want trouble with the law. ‘All right, boys. Go on back to work!’