The Eightfold Fence Ch. 04

As she was being fucked, Katherine again watched the others. After a few moments the Satyr's cock was hard again; he had taken a Viagra as he did every day. He eased himself behind the other woman's upturned ass and fit his large cockhead into her slit. Pushing forward, he drove his meat into the woman until he was balls-deep inside her. The woman groaned as she continued to suck Gor-don's cock.

Gor-don wouldn't last much longer, Katherine noted, and she was right. A moment later the young punk eased his cock out of her mouth and began climaxing, shooting his load onto the other woman's face, coating her glasses, nose and mouth with globs of semen. The Satyr held the woman's hips and continued to pound steadily into her, driving his groin into her ass with loud, wet smacks. Matching those smacking sounds was Clark as he pumped Katherine, fucking her sodden cunt into a creamy, spermy lather.

The Satyr had given Katherine the information she'd wanted to know: Ward's group of Four were bringing in someone from the outside to acquire some technology that most believed had died with Jody Corrigan's rogue CIA cell. Katherine knew that Ward was in league with Seth Warner's sister Karen and Todd Burke's mother Elizabeth, and they were probing to find weaknesses in BOW Enterprises. To Katherine's chagrin, the Satyr did not know who their 'Number Four' was, and she was very eager to learn that person's identity.

Meanwhile, Gor-don was keeping Katherine well-informed on what was going on inside the D.A.'s office, as well as what the Iron Crowbar and his top Lieutenant, the woman that was Jenna Stiles's girlfriend, were doing. She'd cautioned Gor-don not to create problems that would cause the Iron Crowbar to kick him to the kerb. But now... that didn't matter, Katherine thought, pleasure coursing through her loins from Clark's fucking as well as the thought that came to her: she now had another mark inside Police Headquarters, and a high-level one at that: Robert Brownlee was totally in her power, and they both knew it.

She'd met Brownlee at the bar of the Hyatt Hotel north of the City, making sure to sit where she was not easily seen while he was observed easily. Brownlee was eager to begin antagonizing the Iron Crowbar, and she'd let him rant but told him not to overdo it, that it was more important to get as much info on the Iron Crowbar's operations... and weaknesses. She'd want to create something to cause Troy problems soon, but wanted Brownlee to begin shaping the TCPD to his way and will while Troy was working on the SBI legislation in Midtown. She'd made one observation very quickly: Brownlee was an idiot and a fool. He was easily manipulable, but he also was a hothead that would likely become more trouble than he was worth.

Clark groaned as he came, adding his own essence to the filthy, frothy mess that was Katherine's well-fucked cunt. They watched as the Satyr pulled his cock out of the other woman and fired jets of semen onto her quivering asscheeks and slender back.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Austin L. Murphy entered the office of Henry Wargrave, seeing the tall, ash-blonde man behind his desk, staring out the window at the magnificent view afforded by being on the 30th floor... but Wargrave was not seeing that view as he was lost in thought.

"Hello, Austin." Wargrave said quietly. "What brings you here?"

"I just came to tell you," said Murphy, "that Dawn Starrett was found dead last week up in the mountains north of here. Cherie was near the location at the time."

"Yes, I know." Wargrave said. It was a slip, but Murphy did not catch it.

"I also just found out that Harold Malone is dead." said Murphy. "He was shot in the night at the Phillips Plantation."

"I heard about that." said Wargrave, realizing that Murphy had slipped in knowing the name of the farm. "Rifle shot from at least 200 yards away, the local police say."

"I'm working on getting a full report now." said Murphy. "But what I came to tell you is that Muscone of the FBI is taking an interest in it... and Fredricson of the CIA is, also."

Wargrave whirled to face Murphy. "Fredricson? That's not good. Not good at all. Muscone, we can handle easily. But if Fredricson gets involved, that could hurt us internationally."

"Yes sir." said Murphy. "I'm also hearing chatter that the FBI really wants to start looking into you and your operations, and right at this critical juncture."

Wargrave nodded as he silently and internally sighed. This was not good. He'd been effectively cut off from Conrad King and his network, and now the man with whom he was working was acting strangely, unpredictably. Wargrave felt nervous and jumpy.

Added to it was that the Oldeeds Group was about to resolve their power struggle issues. Wargrave had wanted to get in on that, renew ties with the group, but once again he felt himself being boxed out and he remained on the fringe of that. And now the SBI legislative battles were coming up... and right there was the Iron Crowbar, gaining influence with politicians that he, Troy, had no idea how to properly use... and maybe didn't even realize the gold mine he was sitting on. Geez... and all this after some idiot set fire to the old Bonniker cabin, with the Iron Crowbar and his family asleep inside.

"What do you want to do, sir?" asked Murphy.

"Right now, just find out exactly what happened to Malone, then tell our people down there to be on the alert for the FBI sneaking in and looking around." said Wargrave. "I was counting on Malone, probably more than I should have. His death is going to cause me a lot of hassle, and cost us a lot of money... and for all those billions I allegedly have, money... real money... is getting tight. Things are getting ugly in the Middle East, as well."

After a moment and a few more explicit instructions, Wargrave said "Thank you for coming by, Austin. I'll talk with you again soon." Murphy nodded in acknowledgement of the dismissal, and exited the office. Wargrave turned back to the window, letting his mind think, coalescing everything he knew and expected to happen.

He realized the focal point of his danger: Laura Fredricson. A conflict and resolution a long time in the making was now beginning to happen. And it did not make things one bit easier for Wargrave that she was the wife of the most dangerous man in the entire State, the one man Henry R. Wargrave had truly come to fear: the Iron Crowbar...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday, January 27th. Jack Muscone and I were standing on a patch of plowed ground as the sun was sinking towards the ground in the western sky. I was thinking that in warmer weather there would be the leaves of peanut plants sprouting up... and rattlesnakes meandering through those plants on the hunt for field mice.

"Okay, here is where Malone was shot." Muscone said, pointing to where the chalked outline of a body was still visible (they still do that in some places? I wondered; I guess they do) as well as a ton of footprints and vehicle prints. "Two hundred yards east is the farmhouse, and the front door of the farmhouse faces north. I guess this was a plantation back in the old days. And the area behind the house is fenced off; it's a cattle ranch now."

"Probably." I said, looking around. "So tell me again why we're here?"

Muscone said "My boss wanted an eyes-on look at the place. Malone was shot in the dead of night out here, in the right cheek. Looks like a shot from long range, not up close. Now I don't believe for a minute that he was here looking for teenagers as the townspeople had said. We think he was working a drug deal, or..."

"Or an arms deal for Wargrave." I said quietly, letting my FBI friend know that I was not the dumbest rock in the box.

"You wife tell you?" Muscone grunted.

"No." I said truthfully. "I was following up on the attempt on Daniel Allgood, and a nugget came out that Wargrave's private plane landed in Columbus, Georgia. The only reason that even came out was because Ft. Benning, GA is next to Columbus, and they routinely track flights in and out of Columbus."

"Ah, Ft. Benning." Muscone said. "You chewed some dirt there, didn't you?"

"For a few weeks." I said, 'fondly' remembering my time at Airborne School at Ft. Benning. But then that thought left me... I saw the hint of the rising dust cloud on the horizon. And I knew what it meant.

"Jack, we gotta go." I said, racing to the car. Jack did not follow, so I ran back and grabbed him and literally shoved him towards the car. "We gotta go now, Jack!" I shouted.

"What the fuck??" Jack asked, confused. I did not answer, but got him into the front passenger seat, then ran around and took the driver seat. We would now see how my former Military Police and Police Academy drivers' training served me as I gunned the engine and headed down the dirt track... not towards the highway, from where the dust cloud was coming, but the other way... through the cattle farm areas.

"What's going on, Don?" Jack asked, holding on for dear life and I bumped through the uneven terrain.

"Look behind us." I said. "They're coming for us." Jack looked in the side mirror, then turned and looked out the back window.

"They're cops!" he said. "It's okay, Don!"

"Like hell it is!" I thundered back. "If they catch up to us, we'll be as dead as Harold Malone!" I gunned it even faster as I headed for the county highway up ahead. "By the way, Eglin AFB in Florida or Ft. Benning, which do you want to make a break for?"

"Eglin." Jack said. "I've got contacts there."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We were seated in a small room near the main airstrip at Eglin Air Force Base near Pensacola, Florida, waiting for an FBI plane to come pick us up and transport us back to the City. Getting away from our pursuers had not been too difficult: we had a radio in our car and Jack had contacted an FBI frequency, getting some agents to run interference for us, and also getting the Alabama Highway Patrol to escort us to the Florida state line.

"So," said Jack, "want to tell me what that was all about?"

"Malone's guys... maybe his real cops or maybe guys faking being cops... were coming for us." I replied. "I think they believe the Feds shot Malone, or at least want to make an example of us... lots of 'States Rights' types down here. That... or they had instructions to look out for us and eliminate us if they caught us."

I continued: "And that's why I suggested we come in here quietly instead of contacting local law enforcement as we normally would. I didn't trust them. I guess someone saw us and called the local cops."

Jack said sardonically "Sounds like Coltrane County just south of yours... naah, I shouldn't say that, their new Sheriff Sorrells and Deputy Strait are trying to make improvements."

"True." I said. "And yes, it's a 'good ole boy' network down here as well as there. And lots of white people in both counties not liking the other ethnicities, if you know what I mean."

"Yes. Yes I do. So," Jack said, "since you seem to know what's going on, and predicted the possibility of these guys coming after us, why don't you tell me who shot Harold Malone."

"Oh isn't it obvious?" I said. "But I'll give you one clue, then say no more: Remember that phrase 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'?"

"Ohhhhh..." Jack said quietly. "Remind me not to try to shoot any Town & County Sheriffs anytime soon."

"Or University Professors and CIA officers the scorned person might be related to by blood..." I replied.

"From where did she shoot?" asked Jack.

"The farmhouse itself." I said. "Probably a second floor window. Took out Malone, then scooted to the back cattle ranch and made her way to a vehicle from there..."

Part 10 - Epilogue: Retirements and Promotions

Sunday night, February 1st. Because it was Sunday, the promotions would not occur until the next morning, February 2nd. The members of the Orange Order, the Police Honorary Society, were gathering for dinner at the Junction Station Depot. Uniforms were forbidden; most of the attendees were in 'business casual', while a few wore suits. There were no ranks at this gathering; all were considered equals. Yet everyone still called Chief Griswold "Chief", and were reticent to call my by my first name; most called me "sir" as if it were my name.

I was sitting down next to Cindy Ross. She'd had a number of people inquire of her health and commiserate with her not being able to defend her triathlon title. She endured it stoically. She'd pretty much come to terms with it, and the boredom of my informal restrictions upon her duties was her biggest challenge.

She had again encouraged Teresa to take a new partner, particularly Todd, but Teresa had said that without Cindy, her (Teresa's) heart would not be in it enough to win, and winning was what mattered. For Teresa, the race was about sisterhood, as was the race she and her sister Alexis had won all those years before. But interestingly, Todd did show interest in the race, and Cindy was now coaching and training my stud nephew and his friend Teddy Franklin in their new training regimen.

At some point in the evening of the Orange Order dinner, the discussion of the next day's promotions came up. Most of the uniformed officers' advancements had been discussed (Morton and Hicks were getting pay grade raises, I was happy to report), and the big one, Robert Brownlee, was not discussed until nearly the very end. Of course, everyone wanted to know how I felt about it, and even though what was said here was considered secret and stayed here, I had to be evenhanded in my replies. Chief Griswold was not fooled.

"Captain Charles's replacement has accepted the position and is already here." I said, avoiding the subject as I talked to the Chief.

"Yes, and I like the young man you're bringing in." replied the Chief as we sipped bourbon. "But let's stop beating around the bush and talk about the real issue here: Brownlee."

I grimaced and the Chief said ""I was afraid of this. I was afraid the Council would do this. Brownlee is a good administrator, but he is a bitter, hate-filled man."

"Yes." I said. "He wanted the Chief's job, and while he pretended to be happy about Deputy Chief, I know that he was pissed he didn't get the top job... over me."

"Exactly." replied Griswold. "I know you can handle it, Crowbar, but that man is going to try to make your life as much a living hell as he possibly can."

"Don't I know it." I said. "And before you tell me, Chief, I know that he and Katherine Woodburn are in league, and she's going to try to get him to make me do something... regrettable."

"What about Ross?" the Chief asked. "You are the same rank as Brownlee, and actually that little cut above. But she's not. And he may well try to make her health an issue, not to mention try to lord it over her... to piss you off as much as to piss her off."

"Worry not, Chief." I said. "I've got it covered. First, I don't care if I lose my career or even go to jail; if that guy tries to mess with Cindy, I will take his sorry ass down. Partly so she won't do it and get fired, but partly because I am not going to let anyone fuck with my Crowbar Two."

The Chief smiled merrily under his mustaches at that, and I continued: "Second, Miss Ross and my mother think I don't know it, but they've been doing research behind my back on the 'real Moriarty'. Methinks Cindy could get a job with Federal agencies if she beats the shit out of Brownlee and has to leave the Force. And third... well, Chief, I'll keep that one to myself, but sometime in the future our friend Cindy Ross is going to learn some things that will blow all our minds."

"Except yours." Chief Griswold replied. He paused, then said "And mine." My eyes and the Chief's locked, and I realized that he knew what I knew...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the morning of February 2nd, the entire Uniformed Division of the Town & County Police Force assembled in the main auditorium at Police Headquarters. They would be getting their Precinct assignments soon, but first they had something very important to do: say goodbye to their 'fellow uniformed officer', Captain (Ret.) Leslie Charles.

"You are far and away the most professional group of people to wear police blue that I have ever known, any place, at any time. It has been my honor and privilege to serve with you as well as those that came before you. And I know that you will continue to work as the professionals you are, and never stain the name of the Town & County Police Force." said Captain Charles. Thunderous applause echoed through the chamber.

I was listening from the back with Chief Emeritus Griswold and Sheriff Allgood. All other persons, including Detectives, civilian personnel, support staff, had been forbidden to be in the room: this was a Uniformed Officers thing.

"So do your best for your Commander, your new Chief when you get one, and your Sheriff, but most of all, do your very best for the Citizens of this County." said Charles, wrapping it up. Once that was done and the long minute of applause finally died down, Sergeant Rudistan called for all Uniformed Personnel to rise and get into place.

They were going to form a gauntlet for Captain Charles to walk through, similar to what we did for Chief Griswold. But it would only be uniformed officers, and it would lead to the back parking lot for the retirement ceremony and promotions. Every uniformed officer being promoted or upgraded wanted Captain Charles to pin on their insignia. I scrambled to get to the promotion area ahead of the gauntlet forming so that I could watch it. My Detectives and Captain Harlow's administrative personnel had done likewise.

It was impressive. The line was mostly outside, so as Captain Charles walked by, his officers saluted him. He basically kept his hand up to his forehead in a constant return salute as he walked through, remaining stoic.

After pinning the insignia and medals on the Officers, Captain Charles's last act was to pin Lieutenant bars on his replacement - Wes 'Coldiron' Masters, formerly Detective Sergeant of the Midtown Police Force.

It was Charles who had personally recruited Masters, with my help. I saw Molly, Detective Soltis and Captain 'Cav' Moynahan among the guests in the bleachers; they'd come to see their team member and friend receive this well-deserved promotion.

Joanne Cummings was awarded her full Detective badge and rank, administered by Lieutenant Cindy Ross and Lieutenant Tanya Perlman, and she got warm applause from the assembled officers. And then it changed.

Almost as if on cue, a cloud covered the sun, darkening the day as Robert Brownlee came forward. I'd refused to participate in his promotion proceedings, so Sheriff Allgood had to do it. He was assisted by Councilwoman Kelly Carnes and an officer that was the representative of the Police Union.

Brownlee grinned as the silver oak leaf clusters, the same as my rank, were pinned on his shoulders, but it was dead silent among the ranks of officers. And as it was done and Brownlee was 'introduced' as Deputy Chief, the only smattering of applause came from some guests in the stands... not a single Officer applauded, they remained stock-still in the position of attention. Brownlee's grin turned to a frown, then a look of determination came across his face... I knew he was swearing vengeance for it. I saw his eyes shift over to me, and I did not waver as I silently stared back. This was not an agency of the weak-minded. Game on, Brownlee, I thought to myself. Game on.

The Precinct Captains came forward to call out the names of the officers that would be assigned to their precincts. First was Precinct Captain Damien Thompson, followed by PCpt. Briggs, then PCpt. Weston. Names not called were still assigned to Headquarters, including Rudistan, Morton, Hicks and Johnson; I refused to let anyone else have them.