Safer Dead

I wondered if this was Sergeant Carl Lassiter, who, according to ex-Captain Bradley, was the toughest cop on the Tampa City police force. If he wasn’t, then I didn’t want to meet Lassiter.

This guy was tough enough.

I pulled up.

The two guards moved forward, their hands resting on the butts of their guns. They came each side of the car and opened the doors simultaneously.

‘Keep your hands on the wheel!’ the guard nearest me rapped out.

‘What’s the idea?’ I said, not moving so much as an eyelash.

‘What do you think you’re up to?’

‘Get him out,’ the cop said. He had a husky low voice that came strangely from his bull throat.

The guard on the offside now had his gun in his hand.

‘Get out,’ he said, ‘and keep your hands still.’

I slid out.

‘You guys crazy?’ I said. ‘I’m a temporary member.’

‘Shut up!’ the cop snarled. ‘Look in the car,’ he went on to one of the guards; to the other, he said, ‘Get him inside.’

The guard with the gun jabbed my spine.

‘Move,’ he said, and I walked around the car and into the lodge by the gates; into a large room with a desk, and a rack of rifles, two chairs and an unlit coke stove.

The cop followed me in and looked me over in the harsh light. He took a police badge from his pocket and flashed it, then he said, ‘I’m Sergeant Lassiter. Who are you?’

‘My name’s Sladen,’ I said. ‘What’s the big idea?’

He held out a hand the size of a bath chap.

‘Wallet.’

I gave him my wallet. He took it over to the desk, hooked one huge finger inside it and shot out the contents. He sat down at the desk, shoved his hat to the back of his head, and went through my papers slowly and with police thoroughness.

After he had gone through everything, and there wasn’t much except my business cards, some money, my driver’s licence and a list of my expenses I had jotted down on an odd scrap of paper, he shoved the lot back to me.

While I returned the papers and money to my wallet, he sat staring at me. His scrutiny was the most uncomfortable experience I have ever had. I put the wallet back into my pocket and looked up and met the granite hard pig eyes.

‘Satisfied?’ I asked.

‘You a peeper?’ he asked, biting off each word as if he hated them.

‘I’m a writer.’ I took out one of my business cards and put it down in front of him. ‘Haven’t you heard of Crime Facts? We cooperate with most police forces.’

‘Must be nice for them.’ He heaved his bulk out of the chair and came around the desk. I’m not exactly a midget, but his height and size made me feel like one. The second guard came in at this moment and shook his head at Lassiter.

The sergeant stared at me.

‘Let’s have the rod,’ he said and held out his hand.

‘What rod?’ I asked blankly. ‘What do you mean?’

His coarse brutal face went a deep purple and his eyes gleamed.

‘Lift your arms.’

I did so, and he ran his hands over me quickly and expertly. It was like being patted by a sledge hammer.

‘Where did you dump it?’ he snarled.

‘Dump what?’ I asked, trying to keep the blank expression on my face.

He reached out his huge hand and took hold of my shirtfront.

He breathed garlic and whisky fumes in my face.

‘Where did you dump it?’ he grated, and gave me a little shake. He nearly broke my neck.

I kept still. I knew if I gave him the slightest excuse he would start some rough stuff, and I wasn’t fool enough to imagine I could handle him.

‘I haven’t a gun; I’ve never had a gun. Isn’t that clear?’

He lifted his left hand and slapped me across the face. It was like being whacked with a baseball bat.

I very nearly hit back, but just stopped myself in time. I might have taken him if he had been on his own, but not with the other two guys to step in and hold me while he worked over me.

‘Go on - hit me!’ he snarled into my face. ‘What are you waiting for?’

‘I don’t want to hit you,’ I said. ‘You crazy or something?’

He gave me another shake that loosened most of my wisdom

teeth, then he let go of me.

‘What are you doing in this town?’

‘Having a look around. Trying to pick up material for a story. Anything wrong in that?’

He hunched his huge shoulders as he glared at me.

‘What material?’

‘Anything that might crop up,’ I said. ‘What are you getting so excited about? Can’t a writer visit a town for background material without the cops getting tough?’

A look of exasperated disgust came over his face.

‘We don’t like peepers in this town,’ he said. ‘Watch your step. I won’t tell you a second time. Now get out and keep away from this club. Understand?’

I shrugged myself back into my coat.

‘Okay, sergeant,’ I said. ‘I understand.’

‘Beat it!’ he snarled. ‘Go on - get out of my sight.’

I went to the door.

I half expected it, but I didn’t think a guy of his size could move so fast. Before I could dodge, his great boot caught me on my tail and lifted me out of the hut and sent me sprawling on hands and knees in the drive.

Lassiter came out slowly and stood looking at me, his teeth showing in a snarling grin.

‘Write about that, peeper,’ he said. ‘And I’ll give you something more to write about if I see you again.’