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Leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs wide, Spencer said:
– What, you think you’re the law here? – At this point, Spencer began to remind the sheriff how fifteen years ago the governor himself awarded him the Order of Courage and that in this town all the creatures are ungrateful, after which he loudly and confidently summed up: – So don’t give me that crap, Desmond!
Harry handed over a printed signature sheet. The sheriff snatched it and crushed it with the fingers of one hand, after which he abruptly took Spencer by the arm and pulled him away from the chair.
– That’s it, that’s enough! You’ll be sitting here forever, half-baked Rambo! – With these words, Desmond took Spencer to the temporary holding cell.
Harry watched them with a worried look. Jenna noticed his reaction and said, without looking up from the back of the chair:
– Forget it. Spencer’s been itching for trouble for a while.
Jenna’s hands then went to the back of her head to unwind the elastic. Her hair came loose, after which she lightly straightened it with her fingers.
Desmond closed the cell door once Spencer was inside and, without a moment’s hesitation, walked back to the office.
Desmond Poe was fifty-nine. Some gray hair appeared at the temples. Unlike Spencer, the sheriff did not have a protruding belly all his life, which appeared only after fifty-five. Desmond spent his entire life maintaining order in Heartstone. His ironclad self-belief began to take shape when he was twenty-eight and a deputy to the previous sheriff. That day, Desmond was sitting in his official car on the side of the highway, where he was conducting patrol. Day as day, until a red Mercedes, wanted for a bank robbery in Dallas, sped past, as mentioned on the radio. Three robbers had taken out a bank in Dallas and were now hurrying somewhere. Signs of the car were sent to all police stations in the state in the hope that somewhere the Mercedes would catch the eye of law enforcement officers. He caught the eye of Desmond Poe. Even before Desmond pressed the gas pedal, he remembered that the robbers were armed and they were unlikely to stop at his request, but at that moment he thought that even a broken clock is right twice a day and demanded through the loudspeaker to park at the side of the road. Desmond’s assumptions were correct. Instead of obeying his demands, the Mercedes only increased its speed, and a face with a shotgun appeared from the rear passenger window. Stopping the red Mercedes, which was wanted throughout the state, cost Desmond the front bumper, the windshield, the right side mirror, the right front fender, the right front door, the radiator, four cartridges and one corpse out of three potential ones. After what happened, no one doubted that this guy had a great future. The chase lasted only fourteen seconds before Desmond pulled out his revolver and fired the first shot, and forty-two seconds later the chase was over. He not only believed in himself, but believed that there was no person who could make him falter. After one of the robbers emerged from the window of the Mercedes and fired the first shot, Desmond began to sink into such a state of stress that he could hardly remember much of what happened next. But when the chase ended and he pinned down two, discovering the corpse of the third, the realization came to him that there was nothing to be afraid of. Desmond was convinced that he had done something that no Hollywood action movie could show. This was the first and only time Desmond killed someone. He felt no regret or guilt for not taking all three alive. The driver leaned back, pressed against the steering wheel with a hole in the back of his head, but Desmond perceived this turn of events as a necessary price of fighting crime. It happens that you cannot do without murder and the only question is who will be killed: the criminal or the policeman. From that day on, every time any difficulties arose at work, Desmond reminded himself that it was he who alone took on the gang in the red Mercedes. For example, when his boss raised his voice at him, Desmond immediately remembered the gang in the red Mercedes, thereby reminding himself of the level of his professionalism, and along with these thoughts came to him the realization of what a nonentity his boss was, who have never done anything even remotely similar throughout his miserable life. Such thoughts about the past were the most effective way to combat stress. The day the gang in the red Mercedes was defeated at the hands of Desmond Poe, the future sheriff learned what he was capable of. Although his reputation preceded him, a couple of years later he still had to remind others of who he was when a call came in about a gas station robbery. At that moment, Desmond had finished lunch at a cafe, which was located three blocks from the gas station and was already approaching the car when a radio message arrived. Seven and a half minutes later, Desmond rammed a yellow Chevrolet Cheville and dragged two would-be robbers into the office. The sheriff found a reason to vent his dissatisfaction on him, they say, he smashed up the entire front part of the body of his official car. But Desmond… No, he didn’t remember the gang in the red Mercedes. He asked himself why the hell this bald hog, who was trying to be his boss, was sitting out his ass instead of doing his job and catching robbers. Such thoughts made Desmond believe in his own superiority over his boss.
His natural essence boiled down to the fact that he strictly followed the law and had a cool enough head that nothing in this world could force him to break the law.
The departure of his boss from his post was an event that occupied a special place in Desmond’s biography. This was a separate, special chapter in his life. After winning the election, watching as he crossed the threshold of the office saying goodbye to the sheriff’s service, Desmond barely restrained himself from spitting on the bald back of his former boss and giving him a kick in the ass so that he would quickly get out. That day he felt that this was his finest hour. Now he’s the sheriff. Now this is his town. Desmond ordered everything that in any way reminded him of his predecessor to be thrown out of the office. He began to spend a lot of effort and time to develop courage, organization and self-control in his charges. This was not always possible, since many people could not meet such standards due to their nature. Using Harry as an example, Desmond was clearly convinced of this. But unlike his predecessor, Desmond knew how to find in his subordinates those skills for which they should be valued. In the end he understood that his town was not Vietnam, where people were being killed on every corner. Among other things, you also need to do paperwork, be able to find a common language with people and resolve everyday conflicts.
After the previous sheriff left, Desmond began to properly restore order. He proceeded from the fact that for Heartstone, given its scale, the level of chaos and violence was too great. Several times a week we received calls about something stolen or missing. Every couple of days there would be some kind of row in a public place. Rarely did an entire calendar year go by without some kind of murder. The only restaurant in downtown Heartstone, called Angel’s Heart, was a real sore spot; in it, every evening – especially on weekends – the atmosphere at first became relaxed, and after a few hours, when the alcohol began to take effect, it was already tense and plates, knives, forks, bottles and everything that could somehow be used to rip open someone’s body. Moreover, a showdown could start between people who had hardly known each other before and had never spoken, but who came to the Angel’s Heart and sat at tables in opposite corners. And so almost every evening, Angel’s Heart put someone in a hospital bed, and someone was sent to a temporary holding cell. From the very first day Desmond first took on the most problematic areas of the town, including the restaurant. For three weeks, he spent every evening at Angel’s Heart, bringing one of his assistants with him. Not to say that Angel’s Heart has ceased to instill courage in the drunken heads of visitors, but showdowns began to occur much less frequently, and over time the situation calmed down completely. The owner of the establishment did not particularly like this, because he noticed how much alcohol sales had fallen. People began to drink less so as not to give the new sheriff a reason to attack them. But the restaurant owner also found a bright side in this, because now he didn’t have to install new windows so often, buy new sets of dishes, repair door hinges and walk around the entire room in search of unnoticed traces of blood after the next showdown. And the chairs in the central hall began to last much longer, since now no one would grab them to hit someone on the back, after which, as a rule, the chairs would shatter into splinters.
And so, day after day, Desmond improved the crime situation in the town. He did something that his predecessor didn’t even bother with.
In less than a year as sheriff Desmond had gotten the situation to the point where no one was afraid to walk the streets of Heartstone in the dead of night without being raped or robbed. That year in the service for Desmond was not work, but a real fairy tale. Every single day he showed who was boss in this town. And then, over time, everything began to somehow calm down and there were no longer any particular reasons to take a revolver out of the holster and wave it in front of someone’s nose. But he didn’t have to be bored, because over time Desmond made another discovery in himself, noticing how much he liked leading other people. He saw in his subordinates a kind of complex mechanism that needed to be made to work harmoniously and cope with all tasks, hence Desmond’s understanding that if not all his people are cool and fearless, then this is not a reason to reject their professionalism. Then he began to work on his leadership skills.
It is interesting that, having taken the position of sheriff at the age of thirty-eight, Desmond began to strive to show others how much nerves of steel and a cool head he had. His reputation was loud, but there were still some things he didn’t like. Almost all residents of Heartstone perceived him as the most reliable protection against crime, turning the name of Desmond Poe into a brand, a sign of quality that guaranteed safety and order. They believed they could let their guard down while this guy was around. The attitude of citizens towards him was extremely positive, since for all his toughness there was no such case that Desmond exceeded his authority. He liked to solve problems as independently as possible, as this pleased his pride, but the law and the safety of others were a sacred matter for him. Therefore, Desmond decided that it would be necessary to convey to those around him the idea that in front of them is the one who is responsible for their safety, and not some commando with post-traumatic syndrome. Since then, Desmond Poe has guarded his image, even though from time to time he was itching to remind himself of what he was capable of.
After a few years of marriage, his wife was disappointed that her husband did not live up to her expectations and turned out to be too calm and balanced. But somewhere after the birth of her second child, Rhonda Poe realized how lucky she was that her husband did not turn out to be the hotheaded jerk she expected him to be, living under the same roof with him.
Everyone who had ever worked under Desmond needed no enlightenment about who they should be and how a guardian of the law should act in a given situation. They had a living example and standard – Sheriff Poe. Few people managed to get closer to Desmond in terms of his set of personal qualities, but everyone strived for this. And even in his late fifties, Desmond managed not to slow down, demonstrating absolute self-control and promptly solving any problems that surfaced in his town.
But lately Desmond has been faced with a problem. Not to say that it was an age crisis, but the years took their toll and age no longer allowed him to feel as vigorous and daring as in his best years. Despite the fact that Desmond managed to restore order in the town during the first years of his tenure as sheriff and now there was not much work in this sense, he still felt bad at heart that there was not even a reason to sweat to solve any problem more serious than domestic violence or chasing a violator who is exceeding the speed limit. Desmond needed a reason to declare himself in his late fifties, because the last time he had to show who was the law was eleven years ago, when he was forty-eight and still full of fire.
3. Gomorrah
Inside, the music had not yet died down, customers kept drinking the bar dry, balls rolled into pockets, and there were fewer and fewer parking spaces. Gomorrah was a one-size-fits-all establishment. There was a striptease and a bar; here they played poker for money over a glass of beer and made bets at the billiard table. This was perhaps the only place in Heartstone where the sheriff did not come due to regular violence, because Gomorrah always had two bouncers. No shift went by without a brawl, so the bouncers were never idle. Perhaps fights would not have occurred so often if the institution was not located outside the town near the federal highway, which ensured a constant influx of customers passing by, among whom were trailer drivers, students, travelers with motorhomes, rodeo participants, farmers, hunters and fishermen. But a special category of clients were bikers. One day, a whole gang of seventy-eight bikers, who were on their way from Louisiana to California, parked in front of the establishment and decided to make a short pit stop when they saw a sign glowing from green neon tubes with the inscription Gomorrah, on both sides of which a pair of spread women’s legs glowing red on either side. The atmosphere that night was tense. This was the only time when Sheriff Poe came to the strip club to establish order, because alcohol was running low, and the dancers from strippers almost retrained as prostitutes, and against their will. The owner of the establishment, Luther Grissom, with trembling in his heart, was already beginning to count the losses from broken glasses, broken cues, cracked chairs and tables requiring replacement. But the damage was not as great as it could have been. All the chaos stopped the moment Sheriff Poe walked in and threw one of the bikers out the window, after which he fired a warning shot into the ceiling, and thus adding his two cents to the damage. But Luther not only didn’t take a cent for the broken window and ventilation in the attic, but also treated the Sheriff to free beer because it had become so quiet here since his arrival. The bikers lay with their faces to the floor, and the sheriff’s deputy placed the especially active ones in the back seats of official cars. This was eleven years ago. Since then, there have been enough internal forces to ensure order in Gomorrah.
That night Dana Host earned almost four times more than usual thanks to the fact that she was invited to perform a dance right at the table where the birthday boy was among the guests. After the music stopped and the next track began to play, the guy admitted to her that he would remember this gift for the rest of his life. In fact, you couldn’t dream up a better gift for an eighteen-year-old.
Dana constantly worked in public establishments. She started out as a waitress in a cafe in the heart of Heartstone; a couple of years later she moved to a bar, where the clientele was a rougher crowd, but the higher salary allowed her to turn a blind eye to this shortcoming. She hadn’t even worked at the bar for six months before Luther Grissom, over a couple of visits, noticed how quickly she handled the delivery of orders, and at the same time knew how to talk with visitors who liked to loosen their tongues when drunk. Luther invited Dana to work for him. The fourfold jump in salary made Dana forget about everything in the world. She was not yet twenty then. Working in Gomorrah, at first Dana did not pay attention to anything other than her duties, counting money that she could not even dream of either in the cafe or in the bar. Then she began to look more and more closely at the details. She made friends among the strippers, with whom she sometimes shared a glass in her free moments, and then – when she was taught – she smoked a cigarette with them several times a shift at the service entrance. As the strippers became Dana’s bosom friends, they began to take notice of her amber hair, long legs and toned skin. They offered her something that was supposed to happen someday. After the establishment closed with the departure of the last customer, her friends began to teach Dana the basics of dance, and when her skills developed to the “passed” level, Luther still agreed to give her the opportunity to perform one dance. Before her debut, Dana was nervous, as usual, but a shot of absinthe was always an effective stress reliever. That evening Luther had one less waitress, and when everyone at home learned about the real reason for the busy schedule and rising wages, Dana’s mother was horrified. Father had no time to be indignant. He simply kicked her out of the house. Fortunately, the money that the pole brought Dana was more than enough for an independent life, including rented housing, and six months later she was even able to buy a small house in installments. Honing her skills on the pole year after year, Dana began to enjoy considerable popularity among men. But she rarely went on dates. As a rule, all her intimate relationships were sudden, and the men were often those men she’d known for barely half an hour. Dana was only worried about money and applause in the hall. As Dana’s skills developed, Luther noticed that there were noticeably more local residents among the clients, while Gomorrah was meant mostly for passersby.
Dana Host had one feature, unlike the other dancers in Gomorrah. She could never hit the stage completely sober. But if she throws in a glass or two, everything would go smoothly, and she herself liked to dance, but she still didn’t dare do it without alcohol.
That evening was out of the ordinary. In the afternoon, all the dancers sat down to play cards, where the loser had to dance topless. The agreement was for one dance, but not less than five minutes. Dana was the worst poker player that day, who never came across a winning combination, and she always had problems with bluffing, both at the table and in life. She had to perform the nude dance. But Dana couldn’t do this at first. Her second performance was no different. The third one is the same story. Realizing that it would not be easy for her to do this, Dana drank one glass before each exit. Rum, whiskey, vodka, martini. On the eighth attempt, the booze in her system finally gave her courage and she still did it. But closer to midnight, Dana became too bold and she was sent to the dressing room, where she lay down on a sofa, and woke up closer to two in the morning. Luther ordered her to go home and sleep it off. Alcohol affected Dana not only quickly, but, at times, very strangely. She drank more than half a liter of strong drinks, then slept for several hours, but, having recovered a little from sleep, she immediately perked up, as if she had been drinking coffee instead of alcohol. One of the dancers, whose name was Janine Malone, sat Dana on the sofa, squeezed her cheeks with her palms and said:
– Sit and don’t move anywhere. It’s my set now. Wait, I’ll come and take you, okay?
Dana nodded somehow, and as soon as Janine left the dressing room, she immediately stuck her tongue out, put on her red leather jacket, took her purse from her personal locker and hobbled towards the exit.
So tipsy, Dana left through the service door and went to the parking lot, where her Mini Cooper was parked. She walked mostly steady, but her pace was uneven. She walked more than fifty meters and only then realized that she was slightly off course. The car remained in the service parking lot behind the building, and Dana was already a few steps from the road. She was about to turn her body one hundred and eighty degrees, when suddenly she began to hear a roar of a running engine, which was growing with every second. Soon bright scarlet lights of the headlights appeared on the right. Then the car began to slow down, and on the approaches to the turn that led to Gomorrah, the car began to move off the road, stopping right in front of Dana. The driver’s seat window was rolled down. Dana looked at the stranger and said:
– Hey, hot stuff. Having a good night?
There was silence in response. Dana asked:
– Can’t sleep? Or just cruising for some fun?
Having not received an answer this time either, Dana came close to the car, leaned her elbows on the door and said:
– Not much of a talker, huh? How about giving the lady a lift?
The stranger nodded affirmatively. Dana smiled and then began to walk around the front of the car. She walked, holding her purse in one hand, and ran her free palm along the curves of the body, feeling the coldness of the metal. She walked in front of the headlights, their scarlet glow didn’t faze her one bit. Dana saw a lot of different cars used by truckers and various car enthusiasts with whom she had promiscuous sex when they visited Gomorrah. Therefore, the appearance of the car, whatever it was, never seemed strange to Dana.
She placed her fingers on the door handle, pulled, slid into the front passenger seat, and closed the door behind her.
– So, ready for a ride? – Dana asked in a playful voice under the influence of alcohol.
This was followed by a loud roar from the engine. The car set off, rapidly picking up speed, accelerating along the federal highway at night.
This was the last trip for Dana Host, while for the Racer the journey was just beginning.
4. Sighted and fast
Norman Hughes was another deputy sheriff. At thirty-three years old, he achieved what was quite enough for him for the life that suited him. Stable work; not huge, but decent income; an occupation that, when it came to morals, did not raise any doubts at all, because Norman maintained order and fought against lawlessness. He wasn’t shooting for the stars. A single life seemed to him a very comfortable scenario, when there were no obligations to anyone and all his attention could be focused on work and his personal interests, without being distracted by anything else. Norman couldn’t stand being seen as a womanizer. He saw in this something that discredited the honor of the uniform. So he just started affairs that dragged on for several years, and then suddenly something went wrong and Norman breathed a sigh of relief. So he seemed to those around him to be a man who was sincerely trying to improve his personal life in search of the one, but he was simply unlucky.
When Norman got a job with the sheriff, he had only one drawback – post-traumatic stress disorder. But since Norman was taking pills to suppress his trauma, Desmond Poe gladly hired him. The sheriff valued his experience in the army. Norman managed to fight in Somalia and Bosnia and Herzegovina. He refused further service after five children were killed in front of his eyes. He served out the remainder of his contract and returned home from service. Peaceful life became a problem for Norman. He knew nothing but fighting. Therefore, the first thing that came to his mind was to get a job with the sheriff. A week after starting work, Norman realized that he had found his calling.
He was sitting in a patrol car near the federal highway when the clock showed half past two in the morning. There were often reckless drivers in this area, so there was no need to doze for too long. But as luck would have it, it was this time that Norman started to doze off and slept for over an hour. Opening his eyes, he experienced a feeling of intense thirst. Before his hand could reach for the thermos, a car sped past his eyes. Norman realized that there was no time for coffee now. He started the engine and followed, turning on the siren. Driving out onto the highway, Norman thought that he could not remember a time when he had seen a speeding driver in the middle of the night with headlights off. He caught up with the suspect and began to demand through the loudspeaker to pull over. The reckless driver didn’t even think about stopping, but only increased his speed. Norman managed to notice that it was not his imagination and the headlights were indeed turned off. He continued to press on the gas and demand to leave the road. Getting the most out of the car, Norman began to close the distance and soon saw the outline of the taillights, from which he assumed that a Dodge Challenger was in front of him.