The Fourth Guard

By Earl Babbie

When Jim Twine's throat was grazed by a bullet, which restored his ability to speak (lost in childhood), he was destined for a strange new life. Soon he was in a loving relationship with the police officer who shot him. He hadn't seen since fourth grade when he said, "All girls have cooties." and she threw a book at him. He preferred their new arrangement. Finding himself engaged in an effort to defend his new girl-friend against charges that she was part of a gang that had held up an armored car, he found himself sleeping alone when she was jailed on suspicion of murder. At that point, however, Jim found himself falling in love with one of the investigators looking into the armored car robbery. Then Jim's life got complicated. Finally, Timmy (a.k.a. Reggie) saved the day for all concerned, except for the real robber and, of course, those who got killed before the ending of this humorous whodunit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Earl Babbie
• Release date: Mar 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370469314

Earl Babbie

Earl Babbie is a retired sociology professor. For more than 40 years, his college textbooks on social research methods have been the best sellers in the USA and around the world. They are available in numerous translations. With his retirement from teaching, Earl has chosen to expand his writing activities to short stories, novels, screenplays, and other non-textbooks. He has had a lifelong passion for writing, with his first crime stories written when he was 7 or 8 years old. His aim is to put words together in such a way as to make the reader laugh or cry or both.

Book preview

Chapter One

It was the kind of bright, sunny day that makes you want to spread your arms wide open, look up, and let the sun cleanse your soul. A bullet whizzed by Jim's head just like the spelling book had whizzed by his head in fourth grade when he told Jeanie Walker that all girls had cooties. He didn't think it was Jeanie Walker with the gun, but it could be. Girls can sometimes hold a grudge.

In his defense Jim Twine had only made the cootie remark because . . . well more about that later, perhaps. Right now someone was either having a bad day at target practice or they were trying to kill him. Logic suggested he work on the latter assumption.

Looking for protective cover, Jim realized he had been walking past a parked police car, and some primal survival urge deep within his gut connected with the message on the rear fender: Serve and Protect. Especially the second part. Since the bullet had apparently come from somewhere down the sidewalk in back of him, he quickly scooted into the space separating the two police cars. Hey, there was another squad car behind the first one that had gotten his attention. He crouched down, resting his hands on the grimy rear bumper.

He figured he was probably safe for the time being, quickly checking his pulse to confirm he was still alive. However, he couldn't help noticing that a flow of bullets was starting to riddle both police cars. He was showered with glass as the rear window exploded into hundreds of cubical nuggets. Somebody is going to be in big trouble for this, Jim thought as he brushed the glass out of his hair. While he couldn't specify the statute by number, he was quite certain this was against the law.

The next thought that invaded Jim's mind was that the shooter(s) might not be trying to kill him after all. Maybe the police cars were the actual targets of someone's complaint. That would seem to let Jeanie Walker off the hook, because nothing in her previous demeanor would suggest she'd mutilate city property. Unless the spelling book qualified. Better keep her as a person of interest for now. And anyway, didn't the neighbors of serial killers always say, He just didn't seem the type to do that sort of thing. He was always so quiet. Yeah, quiet cleaning his guns. Or HER guns, little Miss Walker.

Anyway, the right rear tire exploded and the police car slumped to that side. Jim unconsciously backed away from it, edging around the left rear corner of the car and a little into the street. The flow of lead seemed to be slowing a bit but it hadn't ended. It was enough relief for Jim to reflect that he needed to get home, shower, and change his underwear.

Now he heard police sirens in the distance and closing. Soon there would be people present to serve and protect him. Wait a minute. Presumably, there were already police on the scene, unless someone had stolen the police cars and abandoned them. But where were the officers who had presumably parked the cars that supplied his recent safe haven?

One last spray of five or six shots and then a temporary silence moments before five black-and-whites came to a screeching halt on the scene. Officers jumped out of the cars and crouched behind their doors, intently scanning the urban landscape. Nothing was revealed. One by one, they stood up, glanced into the demolished squad cars, and were organized by the officer in charge. Some were sent to explore the several nearby buildings--all seemingly abandoned--and one of the officers, a thirty-something woman with brown curls trying to escape her police hat, approached Jim.

Did you see who did this, sir? It wasn't you was it?

Jim sought to gesture that he was unable to speak, a condition he had suffered since age eleven, when a goat, annoyed at having its tail pulled, had kicked young Jim in the throat. Although doctors agreed that the physical injury had eventually healed, the young boy had suffered a trauma that had kept him speechless for over twenty years so far.

Jim’s attempts to gesture his condition only confused the officers, however.

Lieutenant! I think the witness has been injured. Should I call the medics?

Jim waved his hands in an attempt to negate that conclusion.

I think he's going into convulsions, Lieutenant!

Jim raised his arms and looked heavenward in his frustration over being unable to communicate with the officers.

Now he's praying, sir.

Seeing a small notepad and ballpoint in the officer's shirt pocket, Jim reached for it in a final, desperate attempt to get his point across. The officer leaped backward in a panic.

HE'S GOING FOR MY GUN!

With that, the officer drew her revolver and fired. The bullet sought Jim out and grazed the left side of his throat. Jim grasped the bleeding wound.

Ouchgoddammit! he shouted. What are your doing, you ass-hole?

Jim's sudden outburst was followed by a more pensive, Oh My God! I can talk! Can you hear me? I can talk. I've haven’t been able to talk for decades. Until now. It's a miracle! Unaccountably, Jim found himself looking around for Jeanie Walker. No need for a notepad this time. All girls have cooties, he said now, experimentally. The officer with the smoking gun couldn't believe her ears and debated whether to shoot him again.

Then she lowered her revolver and asked hesitantly, Jim? Jim Twine?

Jeanie Walker? Is that you? I didn't recognize you.

We haven't seen each other since fourth grade. I must have put on like seventy pounds, Jeanie explained.

Jim softly replied, I like where you put it on.

The romance of the moment was somewhat dampened by the joint realization that they were surrounded by six police officers with their guns drawn and aimed at Officer Jeanie. Well, two of them alternated aiming at Jeanie and Jim, but the effect was the same.

Put your revolver on the ground, Officer Walker, the Lieutenant directed. Do it now!

As Jeanie began to comply, Jim began gesturing with his hands as he began to explain that he was fine. Now, all six guns were pointed at him. He slowly lowered his hands to his side and muttered, Sorry. Inside, he whispered to himself, I can mutter. I can mutter.

That evening over dinner in a neighborhood pizza parlor, having finally settled matters at the police station, Jim and Jeanie were catching up. Jeanie said, I’m sorry about shooting you in the throat. Jim sipped his wine, drawn from a box labelled, Red, and said, I'm grateful to be able to talk after all these years as a mute, but I'm sorry about your suspension. Jim’s throat still hurt a little when he spoke, but the bandage around his neck had stopped the bleeding

Well, I think it's only a week this time, which is an improvement over my past incidents. Your promising not to press charges helped a lot. Not like some soreheads I could name--except for the court order not to name them.

Past incidents? You've shot other bystanders?

Well, not in the throat. That was a first. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really cut out for police work.

You look good in a uniform. Jim paused a moment. You look good out of it, too.

I beg your pardon, sir, Jeanie feigned insult.

No, no, I mean you look good in civvies.

Oh, well so do you.

Chapter Two

Jim’s short, roly-poly landlady had nearly fainted when he spoke to her upon returning home, but he wondered if part of her performance was due not just to his new ability to speak but to his having a guest on his arm. A girl guest. That was as rare as his speaking--like never. Once he was convinced Mrs. Dougherty would survive, he led Jeanie upstairs to his apartment. For a nightcap, he had said. And she pretended to believe him.

As he turned his back on Jeanie to close and lock the door to the apartment, he wet himself just a little when she grabbed him from behind. It was all kind of a mistake. She had taken a moment to scan his unpretentious digs, then turned and threw herself into his arms, which she expected he expected. She hadn’t realized his back was turned to her until it was too late to stop her forward motion. Hence Jim’s experience of being tackled from behind. For a moment, he flashed on the possibility that she was apprehending him (she was a police officer, though suspended, to be sure) or perhaps he was about to be mugged. While he didn’t normally expect that of the police, he had heard stories about dirty cops, corruption, and the like.

Jim and Jeanie grabbed at each other in an attempt to retain their balance--and they both failed. As they tipped slowly to one side, each hopping a bit on their leading foot, a floor lamp crashed to the floor and extinguished itself. Actually, it was THE floor lamp. The lamp gave up its life but was not successful in stemming their fall, and they crashed next into a wobbly end table which slid away, trying to escape their assault. However, Jim had been able to grab the table just enough to redirect their motion toward his sole easy chair: an overstuffed thrift store discovery that was a little less overstuffed than originally, due to a few holes worn in the fabric.

The two would-be lovers collapsed into the easy chair. Jim alighted first, and Jeanie flopped on top of him, her left knee finding an unfortunate landing spot.

Argh! Oh God! Oh God! Jim moaned as he tried to find a fetal position under his guest from fourth grade, managing to clutch his left testicle in his hand while he worried about what had happened to the right one. He feared it was still under Jeanie’s knee, but everything below the belt was going blessedly numb. Or perhaps he was losing consciousness altogether. As he wallowed around in these strange sensations, a part of him was murmuring, I can cry out in pain. I can talk.

Sorry about that, Jeanie said. I thought that’s what you wanted, and I didn’t know you had turned around. As she adjusted her position in an attempt to get up off her host, Jim gargled something like a death rattle. He had found his right testicle, or rather she had, with her knee.

Eventually, the two failed lovers disengaged themselves. Jeanie moved to the gray sofa, while Jim rolled himself into a ball on the easy chair and tried to look nonchalant about it. He would have lit up a cigarette if he smoked. And had cigarettes. And enough breath to drag on one.

Can I offer you a drink? he finally asked, as brightly as he could.

That would be nice. What do you have?

That turned out to be a problem, as Jim reflected that he had nothing to offer, except for maybe tap water. Booze would have been nice. Something to ease the discomfort of the situation.

Come to think of it, I think I’m all out. Things got pretty wild here last night.

Did you have a party? Jeanie asked.

Jim paused and reflected. No, I was here alone. Actually, I was all out last night. I don’t drink much as a matter of fact. I guess I only offered you a drink because people do that, and I was trying to be polite. I wanted to be a good host. Jim swallowed and asked with a little smile, How am I doing?

Jeanie thought for a moment or two and replied, I’m still hoping the evening has some promise left in it. How is your . . . your . . . you know. . . recovering?

The feeling is coming back.

That’s good.

Not necessarily, he corrected. However, I think I’ll be able to stand up before too long.

Perhaps you should lie down for awhile, Jeanie offered.

Jim was a bit confused now and simply stared blankly.

You could lie down on your bed, and I could tend to your injuries, she elaborated. Where is your bed? she asked, looking around the tiny living room, seeing no apparent passage to a bedroom.

You’re sitting on it, Jim explained. It folds out.

Oh, can you show me how it works?

Jim raised himself from the chair, in only a semi-crouch now. He moved the formica-topped coffee table over against the wall, as he did every night. Jeanie, somewhat belying her knowledge of sofa-bed mechanics had thrown the pillows and cushions aside, while Jim reached for the bar used to unfold the bed itself.

As the bed sprang into action, he immediately regretted not having made it up more neatly that morning. It looked pretty scrappy, even to his non-discriminating taste in such matters. Jeanie didn’t seem to be bothered by the wrinkled bedclothes as he realized she had already removed her blouse and was in the process of loosening her belt.

It should be said at this point that Jim was not as suave and worldly a lover as you may have assumed. Held back by his being mute, he had never really connected with the opposite sex--or his own for that matter. Long story short, he was still a virgin--if you only count having sex with other people.

At this moment, he was confronting something completely new in his life. Jeanie’s pants were in a heap on the floor, further reassuring him that the wrinkled bed was not going to be a major issue. Now, she had removed her bra, and Jim was transfixed by the sight of her two