Country Cop

By S.B Alicea

Country Cop is the story of Gaven, who finishes his tour of duty in the army and moves to the randomly selected town of Cove, Iowa, with two friends. After he gets settled and finds work in law enforcement, Gaven finds himself on the trail of an arsonist and possibly a murderer. The novel follows his exploits as he tries to solve the mystery of the Betty Boop Bandit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728312811

S.B Alicea

I am of Puerto Rican and Indonesian decent that was raised in Southern California. In the army I worked as a Calvary Scout deployed in eastern Europe, northern Africa and worked with border patrol along the Arizona-Mexico border. The last fifteen years I worked as a municipal law enforcement officer in a city that made Forbes top ten dangerous cities three times during my employment. This is the first of many adventures that I have in store for this great journey that we as readers are going to share together.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

September 30, 1996

The time had come to say goodbye to my four years of hell in the US Army. I joined the army in 1992 with the hopes of becoming a military police officer; well, that did not happen. I was conned into becoming a cavalry scout recon specialist by an army recruiter. I thought I would ride motorcycles, patrolling the borders of our great country, but I only saw one motorcycle the entire time I was in Germany—and it was broken.

So, here I am in Schweinfurt, Germany, waiting to get my final clearing papers. Luckily for me, I’m not leaving this country alone. Damez, my best friend, is also getting out of the army. I met Damez at the airport in Louisville, Kentucky, while we were waiting for the bus to take us to basic training. It was sixteen long weeks, and I couldn’t have asked for a better guy to go through that torture with. However, we were sent to different duty stations. I went to Georgia, and he was sent to Texas.

Eighteen months later, I was surprised to see him in Germany, and we were in the same platoon. We decided we should get out of the service and see what kind of trouble we could get into together. Damez was originally from Portland, Oregon, and I was raised in Los Angeles, California. My name is Gaven Deathridge.

There we were in our last formation in the army. I had joked with Damez that I was going to take off my BDUs, my military uniform, and walk back to the barracks in my underwear. But to my surprise, that son of a bitch beat me to it! He took off his clothes and walked across the parking lot in his boxers. The whole company, including our captain and first sergeant, laughed and applauded. I was pissed that he stole my thunder, but that was Damez for you. He was a character! He could always make any situation into a funny moment.

Later that night, the guys were giving us a going-away party. It was a tradition that when new guys come into country, in this case, Germany, you get them laid, and when they leave country, you get them laid. We all went out to the Max, a popular club near the base. We got so drunk that we could not remember if we got any. I still don’t know what happened that night!

Damez and I got on our plane and headed to Fort Dix, New Jersey. This was the final stop for guys who were getting out of the army and were stationed overseas. We had to spend two days there, and then it was time to head home. We began to start thinking, What the hell are we going to do for work? And where are we going to live? That was something we had not figured out yet. We had no clue what we were going to do. We were so concerned with getting out of the army that we never once thought about what our next step was.

We found ourselves at the local bar and decided to get a couple of drinks and plan our next move. We struck up a conversation with Stewart James, he was a judo instructor who helped train personnel at the base.

I asked, How long have you been here at Fort Dix?

He said, I got out of the Air Force about three years ago and decided to use my fifteen years of judo training to become an instructor.

I have thought about leaving this town myself, but the opportunity hasn’t come up, I said. In your three years here, you must have heard some crazy ideas from soldiers on what they were going to do when they got out.

He replied, I always wanted to try this thing, but it sounded too weird for me. There is a map of the United States in the pool room. Why not throw a dart at it? Wherever it lands, that’s where you should go.

I said, I heard about some guys doing this when we were in Germany, but that was to pick a place to visit—not live.

Damez grabbed a dart off the board, and we walked over to the pool tables. He handed it to me and said, Let’s see where we are going. Gaven, you’re up.

I took the Dart and stood about ten feet away from this large map. I was thinking, This is crazy. There is no way that we are going to let the landing of a dart dictate our destiny. I stood there, looking at the map and wondering where I should throw the dart. I thought, This would be easier if I had a couple more shots of tequila. I turned to the guys and said, Let’s get another round of shots.

Stewart said, Quit wasting time and throw that dart.

I was still facing the guys when I threw the dart over my shoulder. The dart stuck to the map, and I turned around to see where it landed. I walked closer to the map and then turned toward the guys and said, Cove, Iowa? Where the hell is that? I think we should rethrow the dart.

Stewart said, No, that’s not how this works. If I’m going with you guys, then we have to play by the rules we set. It landed on the Cove, and the Cove is where we will go.

I then raised my beer and said, To the Cove we will go.

There we were, the three of us, standing at the entrance to Fort Dix. We were looking out at the front gate and wondering what we were getting ourselves into.

The next two days went by fast. We were set to begin our journey to the Cove, but none of us had a car. We knew we would need to get some form of transportation if we wanted to get to Iowa. I had a couple thousand dollars saved up, and the other guys had about the same. Between us all, we had ten thousand dollars. Stewart knew a couple of guys who might have a cheap car for sale.

Stewart arranged a meeting with this weird retired Vietnam veteran. Now, when I say that this guy is strange, I think I’m being generous. Imagine a sixty-year-old man with a long, jet-black beard and a full head of gray hair. I had to do a double take and look to see if he dyed his beard, but I think it was natural. He talked with a very knowledgeable, intelligent tone—like you might expect from a professor and not a grease monkey. People called him Fred because of Sanford and Son. The guy had a huge junkyard, which meant he would buy anything anyone was willing to sell or give away.

Fred brought us to the far corner of the lot, and there were five cars for us to choose from: a black Jeep Wrangler, a white VW bus, a brown Chevy station wagon, a blue Ford Ranger that was missing a tailgate, and a red Chevy Astro Van that was lacking rear seats. Now, the kicker is that Fred told us that all the vehicles ran and were in decent condition.

I stood there with the guys and stared at the vehicles.

Fred said, I could just sell you one of these vehicles, but what fun is that? You boys up for a challenge?

I said, What do you have in mind, old-timer?

Fred said, I have this obstacle course set up out back. From time to time, I like to test out the old reflexes. I figured if one of you is up to the challenge, let’s see if this old-timer still has it.

I said, Let’s see this course you have set up.

We walked around back to where the course began. It consisted of shooting, running, and tactics. The course started at the far-right corner of the lot. The first obstacle was shooting at targets painted on three wooden barrels. Each barrel had a bull’s-eye to determine accuracy. The participants then ran around some old junked cars before hopping inside an old military jeep and shooting two more targets while sitting in the driver’s seat. After hitting the targets, the person had to scramble out of the Jeep and low-crawl fifty yards in a mud pit. Once that was completed, the participants had to run toward a large circle drawn with spray paint in the middle of the yard—while three large pit bulls on chains ran at you and tried to eat you for dinner.

I was looking at the chains the dogs were on, and I had some questions that I wanted to know before any of us tried this course. I said, Fred, I like the setup of this course, but how secure are those chains that are holding those dogs? Plus, I believe, since they are your dogs, they might not be too aggressive with you.

He said, I never said they were my dogs. I have a friend who brings his asshole dogs over at night time to roam my property because his wife does not want them in her house. He gets to keep his dogs, and I get free security.

I pointed out to the guys that chains were strong, and as long as the person shooting stood directly in the middle, the dogs could not bite him.

Fred said, I could see the hesitation you might have, but let’s make this bet interesting. If the person you pick beats me, you only pay two hundred dollars for the vehicle you want. When I win, you have to pay five thousand for the same vehicle.

I looked at the guys, and they gave me the nod of approval. I said, Sounds like a deal, Fred.

When it came to shooting a gun, I didn’t have any experience. Prior to my military training, the only gun I had ever shot was a Daisy BB gun. I knew that I had no chance in beating Fred, and unfortunately, Damez wasn’t any better. I turned to Stewart and said, Do you know how to handle a gun?

He said, My grandfather taught me a thing or two. I think I could keep up with Fred.

I turned to Fred and said, Stewart will be your opponent today.

Fred said, I have my trusty .38 Special. I hope you can handle it, Stewart.

Stewart said, I think I will be fine.

Fred walked away to set up the course.

I said, Stewart, you seem too calm for a guy who has forty-eight hundred dollars on the line.

Stewart said, Let me do my thing. I’ve got this.

Fred came back and said, It’s all set up. Let’s flip a coin to see who goes first.

I grabbed the coin, threw it in the air, and said, Fred, call it.

He said, Heads.

It landed on heads, and he chose to go first.

To make sure no one cheated with the time, Fred and I each had a stopwatch to compare times. Fred ran through the obstacles, shooting and jumping into the jeep as fast as lightning and then standing inside the circle with the dogs barking and trying to bite him. He finished with a time of two minutes and five seconds. He began to celebrate, because he said that was the best time he had ever done on this course.

Just our luck—we might have been taken to school by an old-timer.

Up to bat came Stewart, and he stood there with a smirk on his face. We had no clue what we were going to see. Stewart blew through the shooting and the obstacles and made it to the dogs. He stood there as calm as could be and knocked down the targets.

After the last shot hit the target, Fred and I both stopped our watches and looked down at the same time—one minute and fifty seconds—and Stewart’s shot groups were smaller than Fred’s. The three of us started jumping for joy like we’d just won the lottery.

Fred stood there in shock and then walked over to Stewart and shook his hand. He then asked him which car he wanted.

Stewart looked at us, and without us having to say anything to him, he said, We’ll take the Jeep.

We left the junkyard with a black Jeep Wrangler that we got for two hundred bucks.

As we were driving to the Cove, it dawned on us that we didn’t know much about each other.

When it was my turn to drive, I said, Stewart, where did you learn to shoot like that?

He said, I grew up in Illinois, and I was a competition production-class shooter for ten years. Let’s say I know my way around a gun.

I told them that I was a jack-of-all-trades, and there is nothing that I can’t fix. I was the only child of an Indonesian mother and a Puerto Rican father. My father left when I was five years old, and I had no idea whether he was dead or alive. I lost my mother when I was fifteen years old. She went to the store and never came back. I told myself that she had died because she wouldn’t leave her son alone on this earth without any family. I explained to them that I was taken in by the Trejo family, and they raised me as one of their own. They were very proud of me for going into the army, and I spoke to them often. I turned to Damez and said, Okay, pal. It’s your turn.

He said, I grew up in Portland, Oregon. I was raised by my mother and grandmother. I had a wrestling scholarship for college and was training to go into the Olympics, but I stayed home because my grandmother was ill. My opportunity passed me by. I don’t regret it one bit since I got to spend time with her before she died.

I turned up the radio, and we jammed out to music for most of the drive to the Cove.

CHAPTER 2

As I was driving on a two-lane road, I saw a sign that said: The Cove: 8 Miles. I began to get a little nervous about where this journey would take us, and I told the guys that anything we got into there would be better than my time in the army. I had a blast, but it wasn’t what I thought that experience would be.

Imagine my surprise when we entered the Cove city limits (population 666). We had to stop and stare at that sign to make sure we had read it correctly.

Damez said, What the hell are we waiting for? I’m hungry. Let’s eat.

We drove into town and looked for something to eat.

Imagine being thrown back in time, and I’m not talking about being transferred into another dimension. Picture this. As we drove through the middle of the town, people were waving and saying hello to us as we passed by. Where I came from in Los Angeles, the only thing strangers would be greeted with was gunfire. Something as simple as that really took us back a few steps. We were not used to having people being so friendly.

As we were stopped at the only red light in town, we heard a scream coming from the general store. I was in the front passenger seat, and I got out of the car and began to walk toward the entrance of the building.

Damez followed me into the store, and Stewart stayed in the car—just in case we needed a quick getaway. As I entered the store, it was quiet. No one was around, but I had a feeling that it would not end well. I always carry a knife with me, and I took it out and kept it in my left hand. That way, I could keep my dominant hand free in case I needed to use it.

I could hear some heavy breathing coming from behind the front counter. I could see that the store clerk was beaten up pretty bad and was in a lot of pain. I told Damez to grab him, go outside, and get some help.

As Damez pulled the clerk out of the store, he continued to scream in agony. It was so loud that I thought whoever did this to him would come out and shut him up for good this time.

Damez finally got him out of the store, and I pondered waiting for him to return. I knew that time was running out, and I needed to act fast—before someone else got hurt.

I could hear several voices coming from the back storage room. I heard two males and two females arguing. I heard one of the males telling the females to give up all the money, and then the other male said that they might have some fun with the girls before they left. There was no way I was going to let that happen. I knew that I needed to come up with something fast, and with me being a TV buff, I thought, What would Andy Griffith do if Barney Fife was being held against his will?

As I was looking around the back of the store, I saw the store cat lying on a shelf. I grabbed the cat and climbed on top of a bookshelf. I knocked over some cans to get the attention of the creeps in the back room.

The two bad guys came out of the back room, expecting a person to be standing in front of the door, but they found nothing. They stood there, and one of them said, Something knocked over all the cans.

I threw the cat at the one with the gun, and I jumped on the other one. The bad thing was that I wasn’t expecting him to turn toward me like he did. I hit him in the head with my left elbow, which knocked him out, but it left me with a swollen elbow.

The cat was so freaked out that when he landed on the guy with the gun, he clawed the guy’s right eye as he was attempting to get away from him. The guy’s eye was a bloody mess, and it was cut in half by the sharp claws of the store cat, causing him to fall on the ground and scream in pain.

I then grabbed a steel pipe, hit him on the head, and knocked him out. The whole incident lasted maybe one minute, but it felt like forever.

Damez arrived with Stewart and a police officer.

The two guys who robbed the store were wanted for several other robberies in Illinois and Missouri. I didn’t feel bad that he was going to be missing an eye. The state police came and took the guys away.

The police officer walked up to me and said, Hell of a job. I’m Chief Leroy Haywood. I’m glad you caught those two and no civilians were injured.

I said, It was my pleasure—except for this lump on my elbow.

He looked down and said, I think you need to get that softball on your elbow checked out. Go see Doc Edwards. Tell him to bill the police department.

I said, Point me in the right direction.

Leroy went on to tell me that the police chief was the only full-time officer, and he had been there for twenty-five years. He was a police officer in Boston for five years before leaving the job to sell real estate with his wife. He returned after fifteen years to take the job as the police chief and had not left the town since then. Leroy had been looking to retire for some time, but the right person had never come along.

The boys dropped me off at the clinic, which was one block away.

I told Damez and Stewart to drive around and find us a place to stay for the night. I walked into the clinic, spoke to the receptionist, and explained what had happened.

Rosie Edwards said, No problem, honey. We will take good care of you. Caroline will be with you shortly. Rosie had me fill out some paperwork and had me sit in the only exam room.

For being a small clinic, it seemed to have all the equipment needed to take care of the people in the town. The doctor’s name was Edwards, and the nurse and receptionist were named Edwards. It was obvious that this was a family business.

I was in the exam room for a few minutes before nurse Caroline Edwards entered the room. She was five feet ten and weighed 140 pounds. She had long curly blonde hair, beautiful green eyes, and full lips. She had a natural cocoa tan and a southern accent that would drive any man wild. She asked me what had happened even though her mother had already told her what I was there for. Caroline said, So, tell me what happened to your elbow.

I said, Some guys were trying to rob the general store. I stopped them with the help of the store cat.

She said, "I saw the other guy earlier when the state police brought him by for me to check him out. They