My name is Jason Ryder. They call me Red even though my hair is brown. It’s because
of Red Ryder the old movie cowboy. He was the one who had the Indian kid sidekick, Little
Beaver.
The first time I saw her I wasn’t all that impressed. I don’t mean she was ugly or
homely or fat or anything. Just not impressive because I had my eye on Marcie, a file
clerk and I’m a very focused kind of guy. It was at a Christmas party at one of my
co-worker’s house.
The next time I saw her was at a private lake party. One of my co-workers knew
someone who knew a person and got us the use of the place. That time she was a bit more
impressive. She actually looked pretty good to me, but not anything that made my heart
race or my mouth get dry. On that occasion, she was staying close to her husband as she
had the previous time. Unlike the other women who gathered to talk about wifely things.
I didn’t see her again for nearly two years. I heard through the grapevine that she
and hubby had gone their separate ways. Hubby’s name was Carl Effler. I used the past
tense because Carl was now dead. Like me, Carl was a cop and as far as I know, he was a
good cop.
Carl happened-up on a robbery in progress at a Korean grocery store. He was on his
way home and stopped for something. He managed to take one robber down before taking a
hit. He shot and wounded the second culprit while he lay dying. We found the second man
less than a block away from the scene. That one was DOA when they got him to the ER.
Carl’s ex-wife didn’t attend his funeral. Someone told me she was out of the
country and couldn’t make it back in time. Maybe so. Some marriages end badly so maybe
she didn’t want to make it back, but who’s to say? It didn’t make any difference to
Carl.
When the front desk called back to the dick’s bullpen and told me there was a Tammy
Effler to see me I didn’t make the connection. I’m not even sure I had been interested
enough to ever learn her first name. I recognized her, but only after she connected the
dots for me.
“I’m Carl Effler’s ex-wife, Tammy,” she said in a low throaty voice. “We met a few
times.”
“Oh sure,” I said opened the gate for her to come through. “What can I do for you,
Tammy?”
“I remembered that you and Carl were friends,” she said. I didn’t correct her. Carl
and I worked together, but we were hardly friends. “I didn’t know who else to turn to,
Detective Ryder.”
“Call me Jason or Red if you prefer. I answer to either.”
“Thank you,” she said and licked her lips. Full lush lips I found myself thinking.
“After Carl and I separated he continued to live in our house in Oakview,” she said.
“After the divorce was final I was awarded the house.” I waited while she nervously picked
at a thread on the front of her blouse. A blouse that seemed full of hidden delights I
thought. I commanded myself to stop thinking those things. “Since I was traveling I let
Carl continue to stay there. That’s where he was living when he was killed.”
“A couple of months ago I came back,” she continued after I didn’t comment on her
statement. I thought it was nice of her to let Carl stay there, but it wasn’t worthy of
comment. “A few days ago I decided to clean out the garage and get rid of some junk. I
found a lot of things that maybe the police department should have. Records and files;
that sort of thing. Boxes and boxes of papers and things that I assume are items of
evidence, but I didn’t look in every carton.”
“I see,” I said. “Would you like to come and look at it?”
“Would you please? I don’t want to throw out anything important. It may just be
junk, but…”
“Sure I’ll come out whenever it’s convenient for you,” I said. “You tell me when.”
“I don’t want to disrupt your home life so maybe you should tell me when would be
best for you.”
“I have no home life,” I said with a smile. “How about this evening after I get off
duty?”
She told me that was fine, gave me the address to save me the trouble of looking it
up, smiled at me, and left leaving a scent behind her that I thought I could smell long
after it was gone.
***
Oakview is a large subdivision in a medium priced neighborhood. Homes that cops
could afford by being careful with their money. Maybe even afford a swimming pool if the
little wife also worked outside the home and they didn’t have too many rug-rats to feed
and clothe. I had only been to the Effler home once. That was when I took the Police
Benevolent Association’s check to Carl’s parent’s right after he had been gunned down.
That was the day after the solemn ceremony we cops put on for one of our fallen.
We know how to put on a funeral. Bagpipes, uniforms, white gloves, a lot of black
ribbons, and the twenty-one gun salute. There are speeches by the mayor and the chief of
police and other dignitaries to be suffered through, but we know how to do that, too. Even
with all the pomp and ceremony it doesn’t seem like enough.
Tammy Effler met me at the open garage door that stood open. She invited me to feel
free to look in the dozen or so boxes and told me she would be back soon.
“I’m going to run a few errands can I pick up some take-out for dinner? I shouldn’t
be gone more than an hour.”
Since I didn’t have any dinner plans other than going to my apartment and ordering
pizza, I told her that would be lovely. She suggested Chinese and I again told her that
was lovely. She got in her tiny sports car and roared off down the street.
It didn’t take long to determine that Carl Effler was a packrat. Box one contained
every scrap of paper he had ever used while performing his copping chores. Stacks and
stacks of old note books that all uniform cops carry. His collection started on day one of
his tenure and continued until his last days. Box number two had more of the same type
junk. Old files of old criminals, many long since dead or serving time in some prison.
Box three was similar and by the time I opened sealed box four I was convinced it
was a waste of my time and that there was nothing of value in any of them. Oh how wrong I
was.
Box five finally had something which peaked my interest. It contained photos of
Tammy Effler and they were great. Some were lingerie and swimwear which were nice, but
what really got my attention were the nudes.
Tammy Effler was one of those rare women who actually looked better in the buff.
She had nice full breasts and a bare pubic area. Some of the photos were in albums and
some loose in an old shoebox at the bottom. The photos in the shoe box were nothing more
or less than porn. Stills of action shots with Tammy and a variety of men. Young men,
older men, Asian men, black men, and one guy who could have been an American Indian or
whatever we are supposed to call them. When Tammy pulled her loud little car into the
drive, I put all the pictures back and closed the box. I had it resealed with duct tape
when she came through the garage.
“Go wash up and I’ll set this stuff out,” she said. “Are you finding anything
useful?”
“I think maybe some of it is things I should take with me,” I answered. “I’m about
halfway through the boxes.”
“Okay, you can get back to it after we’ve eaten,” she said going on into the
house.
Our conversation was casual during the meal. I found that she was well spoken and
obviously intelligent. I made myself look at her face instead of her impressive chest.
I should make it known here that I am a breast man. I know some men prefer ass,
some are pro pussy, and some even lust after feet and navels, but I like boobies and size
makes no difference. Large, small, hangers, droops, are all the same to me. I developed an
interest in tits at an early age and it just grew over time.
Tammy Effler had a real treasure chest and I wondered why I hadn’t noticed her
goodies before. We finished and I went back to the garage after assuring her I didn’t need
any help.
The next couple of boxes contained nothing to get excited about. Then I found a
carton that contained videos. Older VHS, Smaller camcorder tapes, and several disks. I
resealed it and put it with the photo box. The last box had some very interesting things.
Two pistols, one automatic and one revolver, and several knives, not in the legal pocket
knife category. There was a baggy of green plant material so old it crackled and a couple
containers of white powder that I was sure were coke. I assumed it was some evidence Carl
intended to use and didn’t for whatever reason.
Toward the bottom of the box I found an envelope containing a key but no
explanation. The door from the house opened and Tammy came out with a tray with two
bottles of beer.
“What would you say to a cold beer?” she asked.
“I’d say, hello cold beer, you beautiful thing,” I answered causing her to laugh.
She had a good laugh.
“Finding anything worthwhile?” she asked clinking her bottle against mine.
“Yeah, a couple of boxes I need to look closer at,” I answered. “There are some
things in this one I need to destroy.”
“Yeah, the pot and coke,” she said. “That box has stuff from another box and I
combined them.” She kicked the box. “That’s was when I thought I’d better get some help
with this crap. What’s that?” she asked eyeing the key I held in my hand.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Looks like the key to a lockbox or something. Has the
number 621 stamped on it. Did Carl have a safe deposit box at a bank?”
“Not that I am aware of. There was a small strongbox in the closet, but I knew
where he kept the key and I opened it. Nothing in it but some personal papers and a couple
thousand dollars in cash. I sent the money to his folks because they were his heirs.”
“Carl changed his will after your divorce, huh?”
“Yes, but for whatever reason he didn’t change the beneficiary on his insurance
policies. I was still the beneficiary. Isn’t that strange?”
I said it wasn’t strange, but it was. After my divorce, I had my ex off everything
I could think of and especially my insurance.
Through our group plan we can get life insurance pretty reasonably. Also through
the Police Benevolent Association we can get even more insurance. I wondered how much
insurance Carl carried. I didn’t have to wonder long. She told me the total was seven
hundred fifty thousand dollars. Carl had carried the max.
“Do you carry that much insurance, Red?” she asked me. I told her as a single guy,
I carried just what the police department gave me and that was almost enough to bury me.
Carl had been paying a hefty premium and I had to wonder why.
“You must have had a civil divorce,” I said.
“I don’t know if I would call it civil or not,” she said with an abrupt laugh. “We
didn’t take shots at one another. I think Carl hoped I’d change my mind right to the very
last. Not that it was going to happen. Once I made up my mind it was over, it was over.
This other stuff will be all right to set out for the garbage men?”
“Why don’t I come and haul it away? I’ll take it to be shredded and then it won’t
matter. I’ll take these three boxes tonight and look through them before getting rid of
them. I’ll flush the powder and pot down my toilet.”
“That’s very nice of you, Red,” she said beaming at me. I liked being beamed at by
Tammy. “There’s no real hurry. I’m thinking about putting this house on the market. I
don’t need a place this large. I hear the real eastse market is soft now, so when you get
around to it will be fine.”
“No children, I take it,” I said.
“No, I couldn’t have children and that became part of our problem. I wanted to
adopt and Carl would have any of that. He said he didn’t want somebody else’s kid to
raise. Carl could be a selfish prick sometimes.” She looked startled and then laughed. “I
should not speak ill of the dead, should I?” I suppose that is true, but ex-spouses may be
the exception to the rule.
I loaded the two boxes of photos and videos and the other smaller box and left
telling her I would return in a few days to get the rest of it.
I put the three boxes in my spare room. I flushed the contraband and took a couple
of the albums to look at while I was in bed. While looking at Tammy’s photos I was struck
by two things. One, how damned hot she looked and the other thing was how hard my dick
got. Yeah, I had to jack-off.
After that I lay awake for a while thinking about that key. There were thousands of
private mailboxes and depositories in town besides banks, bus, train, and plane terminals.
I knew I had little chance of finding the right one, but I couldn’t help but wonder why
Carl Effler had a locker somewhere.
I called Tammy the next morning after I got to work and asked her about it again.
“Did Carl have his mail delivered to a private post office?” I asked her. She
didn’t think so. Same for a bank depository.
“Except for Midtown Gym and at the police station I don’t think he had any
lockers,” Tammy said. I glanced at the key. It wasn’t our locker room key. We used
padlocks or combination locks and Carl would have carried that key. Same for his gym
locker, unless…damn I should have thought about a spare key. “Anyway I’m glad you called,
Red,” Tammy was saying. “My neighbor said you could use his pickup truck to haul the other
boxes if you wanted to,” she said. “Make one trip out of it that way.”
I told her that was a fine idea and that I would come over on Saturday morning. I
left the station house about noon and went to Midtown Gym. I wasn’t a member of that gym,
but a lot of cops were. They gave us a nice discount. I acted as if I belonged and no one
challenged me. I found locker 621, opened it and saw two gym bags. I removed one and
looked inside. Then I had to take a seat on the bench. That damned bag was stuffed full of
money. All currency and all were one hundred dollar bills and tightly wrapped with a
wrapper. The second bag was like the first one.
I didn’t take time to count it, but there had to be at least a million dollars in
the two bags. There was no way a cop could ever accumulate that kind of money honestly. No
way; no how!
Just so you know, I was tempted. Hell, I’m human so of course I wondered what I was
going to do with it and how I could spend it. However, my well known and well documented
distain for filthy lucre soon was back in place and I zipped up the bags and put them back
in the locker. I went up to the main desk and inquired when the rent or whatever was due
on locker number 621.
I was informed that the locker went with membership and after convincing the nice
young lady manning the desk I was Carl Effler I was informed “my” membership was good
through the end of the year. I asked for and got a new locker assigned after I complained
about the door sticking. I transferred the two bags to my new locker. The smelly shoes and
jockstrap I tossed in the trash. The helpful and well-built lass didn’t let me leave
without a sales pitch on a membership upgrade.
Back at the station, I nosed around and managed to find Carl’s case file. After
Carl had been killed his caseload was shuffled around and given to several other dicks. As
far as I could tell, Carl wasn’t investigating anything that would generate that much cash
so I had to start looking down his back trail. I went to Carl’s old partner and asked him
about Carl’s death.
“Anything about the shooting bother you?” I asked him.
“What do you mean?” Sam Kidwell asked. “Every fucking thing about it bothers me.”
“I mean was there ever any reason to think it was anything other than what it
appeared to be? Just a bit of bad luck and poor timing?”
“Naw, it was pretty straight forward,” Sam said. “Just rotten-ass luck. Why are you
asking?”
“Tammy Effler called me and asked me to dispose of some stuff Carl had in the
garage,” I explained. “Is there anything Carl was working on that you want out of the
stuff?”
“No, it’s all old stale shit now. Ol’ Carl was a packrat and kept everything he got
his hands on. I wonder why she called you and not me.”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. I did have an idea. Wives of cops often don’t like
the partner. Cops spend as much and often more time with their partner than they do with
the wife so sometimes there is a jealously factor. Back when I had a wife and a partner
they were like a cat and dog.
I left Sam, but I still wondered if maybe that shoot-out wasn’t contrived. I
couldn’t imagine how any cop could have two bags of cash and not piss someone off.
Current crimes occupied most of my time for the next few days so I had to put that mystery
on the back-burner.
On Friday I called the company we used to destroy documents and made an appointment
to take the files the next day. On Saturday morning, I was back at the Effler house early.
There I met the neighbor, one Omar Trigger.
Omar trigger was a jolly black man and it took me only a few minutes to discover
why he was being so neighborly. He had his lustful eyes on Tammy. Not that I could blame
him because I also had some lustful thoughts concerning her. Trigger was a large man. Not
fat, just big and strong looking.
The object of our mutual lust was not helping things by wearing short shorts and a
tank top when she made her appearance. Of course I could picture her completely naked from
looking at her photographs…over and over.
“This is very nice of you, Mister Trigger,” Tammy said after Trigger had backed his
fancy pick-up to the garage door.
“Now, my dear, let’s dispense with the Mister,” he said. “I’m Omar and think
nothing of it. I wasn’t using the truck this morning.”
Over my objection that I could load the boxes myself, he leaped in and helped me.
That made a five minute job out of a ten minute job. He looked like he had bit into
something sour when Tammy accepted my invitation to ride with me to the shredders.
“I guess you looked in the cartons to make sure there was nothing of value,” Omar
said after the last carton was loaded. “Nothing metal to mess up the grinders?”
“Yeah, I checked,” I said. “Just papers. I’ll have your vehicle back in an hour or
less. I’ll bring it home to you. Which house is yours?”
“That brick, right there,” he answered pointing to the house to the right of
Tammy’s house. “No hurry so take your time.” He looked at the stacked cartons as if he
wasn’t satisfied with my answer about the contents. “I’ll be home all day, but if I’m not
just leave the key in the ignition.”
Tammy closed the garage door using the remote clicker in her little car. She locked
the car and we drove off leaving the big black neighbor looking after us.
“Nice guy to offer his truck,” I said to Tammy.
“Yes, he’s always been a good neighbor. He and Carl got along well. He moved in
shortly after we did.”
“What does ol’ Omar do for a living?” I inquired.
“I don’t know exactly,” she answered. “We, he and I, didn’t socialize much. He was
more Carl’s friend. They played golf and went to poker games and that sort of thing. Omar
had a pool party a couple times during the summer and we usually went.”
“Help me with the time line here,” I said. “You and Carl separated when?”
“About a year ago,” she answered looking at me oddly. “I went my way and Carl
stayed here and worked. I filed for the divorce and it was final about six months ago.
Just a few weeks before Carl was killed. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” I answered. “Just curious I guess. So you didn’t see Carl for nearly a
year?”
“Just about a year,” she answered. I didn’t understand why she was lying to me. On
some of the videos of her fucking a bunch on men there had been a date imprint. According
to that, Tammy was fucking Carl and others a few weeks before Carl bit the dust.
We had no delay at the shredders and the contents of the boxes were quickly
destroyed. On the return we stopped at IHOP and had brunch. I love the food at the
International House of Pancakes and of course, I had pancakes. I enjoyed myself so much I
forgot that my companion was a lying slut.
I let Tammy out at her drive and took Omar’s truck down one driveway and parked it.
I took the key to the front door, which opened before I got there.
“Made it back all in one piece, I see,” he said. “Got time for a beer?” Beer on top
of a large stack of pancakes? Why not? I agreed because I have a policy that I never turn
down the offer of free beer.
Omar led me through the house by taking me down the hall and through a den and out
onto a covered patio by a huge swimming pool.
“I don’t need to work on my tan,” he said laughing. “You choose; shade or sun?”
Since the day had warmed, I elected shade. Whatever Omar did for a living he obliviously
did well at it. The patio furniture was expensive and comfortable and the beer was
imported. I asked him what he did for his daily bread.
“A little of this and a little of that,” was his evasive answer. I didn’t get to
detective grade by being put-off so I waited a few minutes and approached it from another
angle. Omar admitted he was an investor. He currently was involved in the rock music
business.
“I have a small recording company,” he said modestly. “CD’s and videos mostly. You
like rock music, Detective?”
“Call me Red. I don’t much care for modern rock,” I answered. “I gave up on it when
they went heavy. I hate rap.”
“Yeah, a lot of that shit is just noise,” he agreed. “You and Carl worked together,
I assume.”
“We worked out of the same cop-shop,” I answered. He produced more beer out of an
ice chest on wheels. I have never understood why beer is colder from ice than it is out of
a cooler.
“Did you and Carl get together after work?” he asked casually. Much too casually I
thought so I lied a little and told him we did stop to hoist a few from time to time. I
mentioned we partied together from time to time. That was the truth. I could recall at
least two parties we attended at the same time if not actually together.
“Yeah,” he said slowly as if trying to formulate his next question. “What do cops
talk about after work?”
“When you are a cop, there is no “after work”,” I answered. “Mostly we cops talk
shop. Cases we are working on, who we’ve busted, and who we want to bust. That sort of
thing. What did you and Carl talk about?”
“Everything and nothing,” he said with a smile. “We talked about golf when we were
playing and he didn’t talk much about his work. Did Carl ever mention me?” he asked
offhandedly.
“Not that I recall,” I said. “Like I said we mostly talked shop. Was Carl
investigating you?”
“Oh hell no,” he said with a laugh. “Why would he be investigating me? No, Carl was
actually thinking about investing some money in some of my programs.”
“I see,” I said. “So it was just you and Carl? Tammy wasn’t included?”
“Not as much as I would have liked,” Omar said wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously.
“She does fill out a bikini well. I always looked forward to the pool parties when she
came over.’
I am well versed in getting information out of people, but Omar seemed just as well
versed in not giving much information. I finished the second beer and went back next door
to get my car. There was a note on my windshield inviting me in for a beer. What the hell?
It was Saturday and I was off duty for a few days so I went in.
The beer wasn’t imported, but I have a rather ordinary taste and actually prefer
domestic beer. Again, I noted that beer from a refrigerator wasn’t as cold as from ice,
but I was able to choke it down with no trouble.
“Still planning on selling the house?” I asked. We were on her back patio looking
at a lawn instead of a swimming pool.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe when the market gets better. There are a lot of
good memories here,” she said then added. “Some not so good, too. Why don’t you tell me
all about Red Ryder? The cop, not the cowboy movie star.”
“Not a lot to tell,” I said. “I’m thirty-five, single, and I live in a dump. I
spend most of my time working or thinking about work.”
“No lady or ladies in your life?” she asked leaning forward to give me a glimpse
down her top.
“None at the moment,” I answered still looking at her impressive chest. At least
what I could see. We breast men will always look given a chance. That’s a given. I
remembered an old TV program and they were discussing looking. One person said it was like
looking at the sun. It was okay to take a peek, but it was dangerous to stare. I pulled my
eyes upward to her face. Tammy was smiling at me. Busted! She had caught me staring.
“Why is that, Red?” she asked. “I assume you like girls.” It didn’t take a
detective to figure that out. I wasn’t drooling, but it was damned close. “Weren’t you
married at one time?”
“I was, but she couldn’t handle being a cop’s wife. She hated the job as much as I
loved it. I’m sure you know something about that.”
“It is hard,” Tammy said. “Until Carl went crazy, we had a good life.” Now we were
getting somewhere!
“Crazy? How so?”
“Kinky,” she said. “It started a couple years before we separated. We hadn’t lived
here very long at the time. Are you sure you want to hear this?”
I assured her I did and she started talking.
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