CHAPTER 48

“Stop!” Mort pulled his sedan sideways across the back of Rude’s truck and jumped out. “Unis called me, she heard you two whipping yourselves up. What do you think you’re doing?”

“Hey man,” Rude said sheepishly. He opened the driver-side door and came around to the back, and Ethyl Esther, clutching the flour sack with something heavy at the bottom, came from the opposite side.

“Well Mort,” Rude began, but the short bleep of a siren and an equally short flash of red lights cut him off.

 Sheriff Quincy Ball pulled his cruiser in so that it blocked both Mort and Rude. He hauled his six-foot-three body out of it, slid on his ranger hat, and looked directly at Mort.

“You were driving pretty fast there Mister,” he drawled.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Mort stammered. “It was kind of urgent.”

”I see,” the sheriff murmured, studying the group to determine its leader. Having done so, he sauntered over to Ethyl Esther. “Mrs. Kennedy,” he said with a doleful sigh.

“You know her?” Mort gasped.

 “I’ve actually been more closely associated with all six of Mrs. Kennedy’s sons.” Sheriff Ball said, looking steadily at Ethyl Esther who was holding the flour-sack with both hands and fidgeting with the top edge. “I guess Robert stopped driving the Mustang after he had to marry that Collins girl, right?” 

Ethyl Esther made a small sound, somewhere between a mumble and a burp.

“So what’s going on here, Ma’am?” the sheriff lifted one eyebrow. “A little bird told me some things have gone missing. That’s my kind of business you know.”

Ethyl Esther, whose fingers were now bunching the cloth bag double-time, explained the thefts and the likely suspect. 

“Those were expensive items,” she squeaked. “Top of the line.”

“Yes Ma’am, I see, and what’s in the bag?”

Ethyl Esther’s fingers were working even faster than before.  “I have a right to protect myself,” she protested meekly.“He’s a big man.”

“Mrs. Kennedy,” Sheriff Ball was officially stern now, “The bag.”

Ethyl Esther slowly unfurled the material and the bottom of the bag dropped.  She held it open for inspection with her arms outstretched and her face averted.

Sheriff Ball looked in and stood frozen for a moment. Then he looked up at the sky and let out a long breath. Bringing his gaze back down to Ethyl Esther, he took out a business card and stuffed it into her cloth-filled fingers.

“You probably have a lot of these already,” he said. “But go over to the office and tell Bernice you want to make a formal complaint. I’ll get you back your … utensils.”

He started toward his car but then stopped and turned around. “And no more vigilante nonsense, understand?” he shouted pointing a finger at Ethyl Esther, but with his eyes directed toward Rude.

Sheriff Quincy Ball drove away thinking how much he missed watching Jack Webb on Friday nights. Why had they canceled Dragnet anyway? It was his favorite show.  

The truth was that the sheriff didn’t give a damn about the small-time crooks and swindlers in and around Jerkwater. Q Ball longed for the big stuff, the stuff that ended up with newspaper reporters and the executioner.

The three in the parking lot watched him go with EmT and Unis peeking out the back door.  Then Mort walked over to where Ethyl Esther stood by the truck, hooked his index finger over the edge of the bag and looked in. Mort gave a deep sigh and then got into his car and drove away too.

Somewhere in the neighborhood a bird chirped, kids played sandlot baseball, and a gas motor started up. But in the rough-dirt parking lot of the Crawlback Inn, all was silent for several seconds.  

Finally, Rude turned to Ethyl Esther. “Ya know, E,” he said in an attempt at a conversational tone, “We don’t exactly have a permit for this here eating establishment.”

Ethyl Esther’s mouth quivered.

“It was always on a trial basis,” Rude continued. “So it makes me uneasy-like, seeing the sheriff pull up and all.”

Ethyl Esther gave a small, shaky laugh.

“Lemme see it.” Rude walked over holding out his hands and curving his fingers open and closed.  

Ethyl Esther pulled away, mumbling, “Protect myself.” But Rude kept his hands outstretched until she relented and opened the bag so he could see its contents.

Like those before him, Rude Crawlback stood a moment in disbelief and then a snort of outrage exploded from his nose. “A meat tenderizer? This is your secret weapon? A meat tenderizer?”

“Well, it’s heavy,” Ethyl Esther justified in her soft, breathy voice.

“Seven pounds tops! TOPS! ETHYL ESTHER … GO” Rude ran his hands through his ragged hair, trying to control the timbre of his voice.  “Go cook something.”