Tip of the Spear Pt. 01

A Sheriff Ryan Caldwell story

I would like to thank QuantumMechanic1957 for giving this a beta read, as well as those who have offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories.

And now, the disclaimers:

For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:

1. Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.
2. All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
3. Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

...

9:30 pm, September 19, 2021:

Bertram Higgins sat at his desk in his home office, reading the email that just came in. He hoped this email meant the end of his problems. Not to mention the non-stop pain. His groin itched horribly almost all the time, and it hurt like hell to urinate. Making things worse, he couldn't do anything about it. He begged Trudy to give him relief, but she just ignored his pleas.

He somehow knew his problems were far from over as he read the email. He heard the click of heels on the floor and caught a whiff of perfume. The cunt cleverly disguised as his "loving wife" stood next to him, looking at the email.

"So, I see you've learned the news," she said.

"Yes," he said. "Can we end this now, once and for all?" She snorted in response.

"Nothing is over," she said. "Nancy's execution is just a minor speed bump. The cause continues."

Nancy Garrison, the wealthy wife of the late Sen. Franklin Legstrom of Wyoming, had finally been found guilty of all charges against her and had met her fate in the execution chamber -- all per the Enhanced Patriot Act, which Legstrom had helped pass into law.

The email also said her accomplices had met the same fate. Still, Bertram knew of at least one accomplice who escaped justice. That was only because the authorities didn't know anything about her. She was standing right next to him.

"The cause?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "There's a new way coming, Bertram, like it or not. And there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop it. Just like there was nothing your ancestors could do to stop General Sherman."

"Sherman may have been an asshole, but at least he stood up and fought in the open, like a man. He didn't hide or sneak around the way you and your fellow cunts do," he said.

"Yes, like a man," she said. "But I'm not a man. And when the new order comes, there will be no more need for men like you. Or Sherman. Or men in general, for that matter. You will all become our tools, to use or discard as we see fit."

"What happened to you, Trudy?" he asked. "You used to be... human." She laughed in response.

"Well, you only have yourself to blame for that, Bertram," she said.

"Dammit, woman, nothing happened between Sheila and me. Or any other woman. You know that. Why do you persist with this fantasy of yours?" he asked.

"Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't. Maybe I stopped it in time. What difference does it make? My eyes have been opened along with... other things. And now, I'm afraid your usefulness has come to an end," she said. He looked at her, shocked.

"What does that mean? Are you finally filing for divorce? Please tell me you are." he asked. She smirked at that.

"Oh, no, dear," she said in a condescending tone. "When we married, it was until death do us part. I intend to live up to that promise." He looked at her, confused. Did this mean she was going to quit playing her cruel games? Would she stop cheating on him the way she had been since she went to that damn "spa retreat?" Would she finally remove the infernal thing she had locked on his penis a couple months ago?

Or did she have something more sinister in mind? The implication of her contemptuous words hit him suddenly, freezing him with conflicting, surging emotions. If he were to die right this moment, the agonizing pain would end, and the abject humiliation would finally be over -- but then what? Could there be any decent afterlife waiting for what he had become? Was there an afterlife to even look forward to?

He heard a strange sound behind him but didn't have time to look. Before he could say or do anything, he felt something walloped him in the back -- so hard it took his breath away. He felt a strange giddy warmth in his chest, then pain the likes of which he had never felt in his life. He looked down and saw a spear protruding from his chest, blood soaking the front of his shirt.

"If it's any consolation, Bertram, I did love you, once upon a time," he heard Trudy say. A tear slowly worked its way down his cheek before the darkness overwhelmed him and answered his questions.

...

7:30 am, September 20, 2021:

Sheriff Ryan Caldwell strode down the covered boardwalk, tipping his hat to those who greeted him. It was a lovely September morning in Hard Rock, Texas, and it seemed everyone was out and about. He stopped for a moment in front of the Boardwalk Coffee House and Cafe and noticed the battered Ford pickup parked out front.

He already knew who it belonged to -- Don Holder, a mechanic for the county who also happened to be an avid hunter. Ryan caught the odor of dead coyotes from the bed of Don's truck and knew what he had been doing. There's nothing quite like the smell of dead coyotes. Even though Ryan had experienced a lot of death in his life, nothing prepared him for the assault on his nostrils the first time he went hunting with Don.

He looked at Don's truck and noted the tires, which looked quite worn. If those tires weren't replaced soon, Ryan thought, Don would have a lot more to worry about than a mere fix-it ticket. He went inside the coffee shop and saw Don at the counter. Don turned and saw Ryan walk in.

"Hey, Sheriff," Don exclaimed, holding his coffee and take-out bag.

"Hey, Don," Ryan said. "Been out hunting again?" Don nodded his head.

"Yeah, got me a permit and spent the weekend out by the old Jones adobe," he said. "Buyers are in town, so thought I'd take advantage of it. Made enough to get myself a new set of tires for my rig."

"That's good to hear. Those tires are looking a bit thin," Ryan said.

"Tell me about it. Figured I'd go over to Discount Tire this morning and get them replaced before I head back out there this weekend," Don said. "Last thing I need is a ticket."

"Good idea," Ryan said. "I'd hate to see anything happen to you, especially if you're going back out to the old adobe. That's some pretty treacherous ground out there."

"You know it," Don said. "Hard to believe folks actually lived in that place once."

"Reckon so," Ryan said.

"Listen, you wanna go out with me this weekend?" Don asked.

"I'd love to, Don, but I promised Bev I'd help her with a new chicken coop she's putting up this Saturday," Ryan said. "And I'm taking her out to celebrate her birthday." Besides, he had spent a night out by the adobe and hated it. He felt like someone or something was watching him the whole night.

"Okay," Don said. "Tell her I said happy birthday."

"Thanks, Don, I will," Ryan said. Don smiled as he nodded his head.

"See ya around, Sheriff," he said as he headed for the door.

"See ya," Ryan said before turning back to the counter. Sally Richards, the owner of the little coffee shop and cafe, smiled at him as she put a cup of coffee on the counter. She already knew what he wanted and fixed it as he and Don spoke.

"Here ya go, Sheriff," she said with a big smile. "Butter pecan mocha. Decaf, just the way Beverly said you like it," she told him. Ryan smiled at that. His wife hooked him on the butter pecan and insisted he started drinking decaf. He knew she was only concerned for his health, especially after what she went through with her first husband, Wallace.

"Thank you, Sally," Ryan said, putting a five-dollar bill on the counter.

"Got some biscuits and gravy cooked up in back," she said. "You wanna take some with you?"

"Got those little bits of sausage in it?" Ryan asked.

"Of course," she said.

"Sounds mighty tempting, Sally, but Bev already loaded me up with breakfast this morning," Ryan said. "Thanks anyway."

"My pleasure, Sheriff," she said. "How is that lovely wife of yours, anyway?"

"Doing good, thanks for asking," Ryan said.

"I'm glad to hear that, Sheriff. She deserves a good man after everything she's been through," Sally said.

"Thanks, but personally, I think I got the better end of the deal," Ryan said. "See ya in the morning, Sally."

"See ya," she said. Ryan took a sip of his coffee as he walked out of the shop. It was delicious, as always. He made his way back down the boardwalk toward the sheriff's department and stopped when he saw the man everyone knew as "Sarge" sitting in his electric scooter. Everyone called him that, but his real name was John Hastings.

He retired from the Army years ago as a Master Sergeant. He supposedly served in the 7th Cavalry under Hal Moore and was wounded in Vietnam. His wife died of cancer about 10 years ago. He ended up selling his property as it was too much for him to take care of by himself with his disability.

These days, he lived on his pension in a refurbished one-bedroom apartment over the drug store that sat on Main Street. From what Ryan knew, the old building used to be a hotel back before the Civil War. It had been refurbished several times over the years. He had heard rumors of people hearing strange noises and seeing shadows suddenly disappear into the walls. Before John moved in, they installed an elevator and made it more accessible for people with disabilities, like John.

"How ya doing, Sarge?" Ryan asked. The old man looked up at Ryan and nodded his head.

"Fair to middlin', I suppose," John said. "Mighty nice out this morning."

"Yes, it is," Ryan said. "You ever get that situation taken care of with the VA?"

"Working on it," John said. "You know what it's like dealing with the government."

"Yeah, I do," Ryan said. "You had breakfast yet? Sally tells me she's got biscuits and gravy."

"She got them little pieces of sausage in it?" John asked.

"You know it," Ryan told him.

"Sounds delicious," John said. "But I'm saving up for dinner tonight. Taking Beatrice down for a steak dinner with all the fixins. Might even get lucky tonight," he added with a laugh. "Know what I mean?" Ryan knew he was referring to Beatrice Smith, a widow who lived a couple doors down from John. She was about two years younger than John.

"Yeah, I do," Ryan said. He pulled out his money clip and peeled off a $20 bill.

"You know what they say. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Ryan said, holding out the money.

"Oh, Sheriff, I can't take your money," John said.

"It's not charity, John," Ryan said. "Consider it a... gift. One old soldier to another."

"Well, since you put it that way," John said, reaching out for the bill. "Much obliged."

"My pleasure, John," Ryan said with a smile. "You have yourself a good day now, y'hear? And tell Beatrice I said hello."

"I'll do that, Sheriff," John said. "Thanks!" Ryan watched as the old man turned his scooter and drove down the boardwalk. He headed back to his office, greeting those he saw on the way as he sipped on his coffee. He lit up a cigarette and surveyed his "domain" from the outdoor smoking section when he got there.

He really liked it here in this town. Everyone seemed so friendly. He never in his life thought he would end up as a West Texas lawman, but yet, here he was. On top of that, the folks here liked and respected him. "Who would've ever thought that?" he asked himself. Ryan ground out the cigarette in the butt can and walked into the station.

"Good morning, Sheriff," Sgt. Elaine Bledsoe said from her desk in the front lobby.

"Good morning, Sergeant," Ryan responded. "Anything that needs my attention this morning?"

"Nope," she said. "Watch Commander already briefed the morning shift. Patrols are already out. Activity report already on your desk for your review." Efficient as always, Ryan thought.

"Good," he said. "Thanks, I'll go take a look." He went to his office, greeting the deputies he saw on the way. He sat down and read through the report. The overnight shift was relatively quiet. A few traffic tickets, the Markham brothers got hauled in for drunk and disorderly -- again, and a domestic disturbance call.

According to the deputy's report, Ed Jameson caught his wife, Darlene, cheating on him and came close to hitting her. She defended herself with an iron skillet and called 911. Ed was brought into the jail overnight, and Darlene supposedly went to stay with her sister -- in El Paso.

Ryan shook his head. Those two had been at each other's throats for a while now, and Ryan knew she had no family in El Paso. Perhaps, he thought, they should just get divorced and be done with it. A part of him felt bad for Ed, having gone through that with his first wife, Lisa, who was still in an assisted living facility.

Ryan filled out his daily reports and checked out the news of the day. People had no idea how much time police spend filling out paperwork, he thought as he looked at the papers on his desk. Elaine came to his office just as he was getting ready to head out to grab a bite of lunch.

"Sheriff, your presence has been requested out at the Higgins place," she said.

"Higgins? You mean County Commissioner Bertram Higgins?" he asked.

"Yeah, that Higgins," she said.

"What's going on?"

"Looks like a possible homicide," she told him. "His wife called it in. Medical examiner's already on his way. So is Detective Hale and the forensics team. I sent a few deputies as well."

"Has the media been notified?" Ryan asked. She shook her head.

"Not yet," she said. "I wanted to wait until you had a chance to look things over, notify next of kin, all that stuff."

"Good job, Elaine," Ryan said. "Thanks. I was just getting ready to head out anyway." He jumped in his official truck and headed out. On the way, he mulled over what he knew of Higgins.

...

From his research, he knew the Higgins clan first came to Hard Rock in 1867, shortly after the Civil War. They originated from Georgia and lost nearly everything when General Sherman's troops destroyed their farm during the March to the Sea. While the Confederacy surrendered to the Union, the Higgins family never did and held a grudge against the federal government for a very long time.

The family built a farm and rebuilt their fortune here in Hard Rock. They also became something of a political powerhouse in the area. Bertram had served as a county commissioner for at least 20 years. Ryan first met Higgins when he was interviewed by the commissioners for the sheriff's position. He met him a few times since, the last time about two and a half months ago, at a formal county dinner. Higgins pulled him off to the side to talk to him about something.

"I want you to know, Sheriff, I think you're doing a tremendous job," he said. "The folks here feel safe, and they really like you."

"Thank you, Commissioner. I appreciate that," Ryan said. "Just doing my job."

"I admit, I was a bit skeptical at first when Russell recommended you for this job, but I like to think I'm man enough to admit when I'm wrong," Higgins said, extending a hand. Ryan accepted and shook the man's hand.

"I appreciate your honesty, Commissioner," Ryan said. "That means a lot to me."

"By the way, I've always wondered about something. When you shot that fella in the street, were you really aiming for his left eyeball?" he asked. Ryan knew he was referring to the incident with Weston.

"As a matter of fact, I was, Commissioner," Ryan said. Higgins tilted his head as he let that sink in.

"Damn," he said quietly. "And here I was concerned about your depth perception." The two of them laughed at that. Higgins looked like he wanted to say something else but changed his mind after looking at his wife.

Ryan saw the expression on Higgins' face change to one of terror and followed his gaze. He saw Trudy, Higgins' wife, give them a glance that could melt a polar ice cap. Higgins turned back to Ryan.

"I'd like to talk with you some more. Perhaps someplace a bit more... private, if that's alright, Sheriff," he said.

"Of course, Commissioner. My door is always open," Ryan said. He wondered what Higgins wanted to talk about and wondered what was up with Trudy. This was the first time he had encountered the woman, but he instantly disliked her. Something about her bothered him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Thank you," Higgins said with a smile. He turned and walked away. Beverly came up next to Ryan.

"What was that all about?" she asked her husband.

"Not sure," Ryan said. "By the way, have I told you recently that you're absolutely gorgeous tonight?"

"I think you mentioned something a half hour or so ago, but a girl always likes to be complimented," she said with a smile.

"Well, you are the most beautiful woman in the house tonight," Ryan said with a smile.

"Why, thank you. And may I say that you are quite dashing, not to mention ruggedly handsome, as well. I think I'll take you home to my bed tonight," she said.

"What would your husband say?" he asked, feigning shock.

"He'd probably shoot your other eye out," she said.

"Well, we'll just have to be careful then, won't we?" Ryan asked jokingly. Beverly laughed, and the two of them began walking to their seats. Suddenly, Trudy was in front of them, blocking their way.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we've ever met," Trudy said as she extended a hand. "I'm Trudy Higgins. You're the egg lady, aren't you?" Both Beverly and Ryan bristled at that. For years, Beverly was known as "the egg lady" by many in the county. Most meant it as an endearment, but others, especially those in the so-called "upper crust," like Trudy, often used the term to belittle her.

"Her name is Beverly Caldwell, and she's my wife," Ryan said. "And yes, she does run an egg business, and it's doing quite well."

"Of course," Trudy said. "I didn't mean to insinuate anything. By the way, Sheriff, if you don't mind my asking, what were you and my husband talking about earlier?"

"Frankly, I do mind, Mrs. Higgins," Ryan said. "If you must know, we were discussing county business." Trudy smiled, but there was no warmth in her smile.

"I see," she said. "Well, I won't interrupt you again. By the way, Mrs. Caldwell, my ladies' group has talked about inviting you to join us for tea sometime when you're not too busy."

"Thank you, but I really am quite busy, what with my business and all. I'll keep it in mind, though," Beverly said. Trudy nodded her head.

"I look forward to seeing you soon," she said before walking off.

"I don't like her. At all," Beverly said quietly.

"I'm not too fond of her myself," Ryan said. "Something about her just doesn't feel right. C'mon, let's eat and go schmooze or something."

"Yes, dear, let's," Beverly said, putting on fake airs.

...

Ryan arrived at the entrance to the Higgins estate and found several media types were already there, with camera trucks. Damn, he thought to himself. They must've seen the other cars heading out this way. A couple reporters saw Ryan and tried to stop him for a comment, but he waved them off and kept going.

He saw two deputies next to a patrol car about halfway to the house. He stopped and rolled down his window.