Chapter 12: New Broom

The next morning, Harley rose early and headed down to the city jail. When he got there, he was greeted with hostile silence. "Where's my prisoner?" he asked.

"He was released this morning," a skinny little man in a policeman's uniform stated.

"Who released him?" Harley demanded.

"I did," a familiar voice said behind him. Harley turned and found himself looking into the squinty eyes of Lester Beaudine.

"You don't have any authority to release anyone from the City Jail" Harley sensed this was a setup; but he couldn't see where it was going. He waited.

"In the first place, Hayseed, nobody gets hired unless I authorize it. Too many people are talking about you as if you're some sort of miracle worker. I can't have my authority undermined way. I sent my baby brother to reason with you yesterday. This morning I find him all cut up and dead. You did it, didn't you? I have heard how you white trash from the eastern end of this state prefer to fight with knives."

"If your 'baby brother' went to reason with me, he must've got lost."

"No, you son of a bitch. You killed him." The fat man's face became mottled with rage. He yelled, "Grab him."

Harley felt two sets of hands grab his upper arms. The big man didn't think he acted. He shrugged out of their grasp, took the three steps necessary and smashed a big fist in the sheriff's face. He kicked him in the gut and turned to the two city cops had tried to restrain him. "You two are fired."

The skinny one looked at him, "You can't fire us. You ain't got no authority."

"I got all the authority I need right here," he said as he pulled a small thirty-two caliber colt revolver out of his waistband. "Around here, the meanest man has the authority. And you listen to me good. I am the meanest son of a buck you ever met. Now hand over your badges and git."

When they made no move to comply, Harley grabbed the badges off of their chests. "Is them guns city property?" The skinny one sullenly nodded his head yes. Harley held out his hand. They unbuckled their gun belts and let them drop to the floor in a small act of defiance. He let it pass.

"Now you two peckerwoods have exactly one day to move out of town, just as far as y'all can get. I ain't got no time to be watching my back so I want you gone. If I see either one of you still here this time tomorrow, you end up like this tub of turds." He gestured toward the still form of Sheriff Lester Beaudine. "Now beat it."

The sheriff hadn't moved. Harley went to the telephone on the front counter of the police station and lifted the receiver off the hook. As he put it to his ear, he heard a woman's voice say, "Operator."

"This here is Harley Duran..." he got no further.

"Oh yes, Marshal Duran. I was in the Bid A Wee yesterday when you gave what-for to Sheriff Beaudine. How may I help you?"

"Well, it seems Mister Beaudine just got what-fored some more. He got frisky with me and is laying on the floor. I guess he needs an ambulance. We got one in this here town?"

"Well, yes sir, we surely do. This is a modern city. But what you want so send the ambulance for him for?"

"I guess because I don't want to be tried for murder if he dies on me and I didn't try to save his worthless a... , er hide."

"Well then, we'll just have to send one right away."

"Thanks, ma'am. I got to go to court now." He hung up.

As he began to walk away, he caught a slight motion out of the corner of his eye and turned. Lester Beaudine had regained consciousness and was pointing a gun at him. Harley dove sideways just as the big caliber revolver boomed. The shot missed and Harley crabbed away from the open door to the chief's office and rolled to his feet.

"Hey, you sack of guts, there is only one way out of the office for you. You're too fat to make it through the window. I'm sitting out here with two thirty-eights, one in each hand. Either you come out peaceful or you come out dead, your choice." The sheriff was not aware Harley was bluffing. Harley only had the small thirty-two and nothing else. The two guns the cops had dropped on the floor were within sight of where the sheriff lay.

Harley tiptoed out of the building and went outside and around to the back and quietly peered in the open window of the chief's office. He saw Beaudine's bruised profile as he stood by the door, gun at the ready. A stranger to Harley appeared in the hallway. The sheriff shot him.

"Billy. What happened?" another man appeared and the sheriff started to shoot him when Harley yelled from the window, "Hey, you trashy son of a bitch." Beaudine turned and fired, but Harley was no longer there. He ducked and ran around to the side door. He saw the ambulance parked there.

Beaudine had just shot one of the people who came to help him. Harley motioned to the downed man's companion to get out of the way. He slipped in the side door and made a careful, quiet trip to the chief's office. Harley took a quick peek inside. Beaudine was at the window searching for a sign of Harley.

Harley charged as hard as he could and stiff-armed the sheriff in the small of the back, just above the tailbone. There was an audible "crack" and the sheriff dropped to the floor. "Get up, you sneaky son of a bitch. Get up or I'll kick you one more time."

Beaudine's upper torso twitched and his hands and arms moved. But there was no movement from his legs. A panic stricken look came over his face as he exclaimed, "I can't move my legs. I'm numb down there. I can't feel a thing." Then realization hit him, "My back is broken. You broke my back, damn you, you broke my back."

"Good, then you won't run off while I arrange to have someone help me get your useless ass to the hospital. He went out into the hall and saw the ambulance driver who had been shot standing on his feet with the help of his partner.

"You all right?" Harley asked the injured man.

"Hell no. I been shot." he answered.

"Well, you're still pretty okay if you can gripe as loud as you just did. He strode to the telephone and lifted it up again.

"Operator," the same female voice spoke again. "If this is the marshal, I sent the ambulance over there to the jail. They should get there any time now."

"Naw, they got here all right. The sheriff just shot one of them. I broke the sheriff's back it looks like. Now you better send a doc over here. I don't know how to move anybody with a hurt back."

"Oh dear. Never a dull moment around you, is there? I'll send Doc Walsh. My name is Mildred, by the way."

"Well, I am very glad to meet you, Mildred. I got to go to court now. The other ambulance man is going to stay here. He ain't been shot." Just then there was the sound of another gunshot, then the sound of something falling to the floor with a "thump."

Harley hurried back to the chief's office and found the wounded ambulance driver standing over a now very deceased sheriff. "He crawled out into the hall, took a gun was on the floor and crawled back in here and shot himself," he said flatly. Then he added, "He let one of his men rape my daughter."

"It's exactly the way I saw it, too. He killed his self," Harley agreed. "I don't see anything wrong or out of place here. Maybe he was repenting his evil ways" He headed out the door and back to the phone. "I got to go to court, you gents do whatever needs doing here. Just remember, we all saw the same thing. He only shot his self once in the back."

He paused, then said, "It don't look right." He took the gun the ambulance medic had used and shot the still body once in the temple. "There, now its official. He shot his self in the head.' The two looked at him, too numb to answer. The one who killed Beaudine nodded silently.

Harley picked up the dangling receiver and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Mildred, y'all don't need to send the doc over here. The sheriff has done shot his self. Just have them send over someone to help get his big carcass out of my office. I'm a going over to the courthouse to Judge Mack's court. If you can locate the mayor, would you send him on over there, please?"

"Never a dull moment with you, is there? I know about where the mayor is, he's my baby brother. I'll call around to the cafe and have him over there real fast."

As Harley hung up, he wondered if everybody who worked for the city or county wasn't related to everybody else who worked for the city or county? He shook his head and went back to check for any possible prisoners in the small city jail lock up. There were none.

As he walked back toward the front, he spied a hickory axe handle leaned in the corner behind the front desk. He grabbed it up. For some reason, the bat felt more natural than a gun in his hand. He hefted it, swung at an imaginary foe once and left, walking at a fast pace to the courthouse, carrying the axe handle over his shoulder.