3

 

“What can I do you for?” asked an Underdog-looking deputy from the other side of the safety glass where he sat upon a stool and did all he could to ward off Mister Sandman.

There was a delay between his words leaving his lips and his words exiting the speaker that reminded me of a 70s kung fu flick. Adding to that was how the speaker sounded so tinny the voice seemed disembodied. I don’t think I laughed aloud, though, I am sure my face gave him somewhat of a hint as to what percolated in my brain.

“I am looking for a bail jumper by the last name of Drumgoole. Drum-ghoul is spelled—”

“Yessum,” he said and nodded his head, which made his chin turn into chins. “Junior, senior, or the third?”

“There’s more than one?”

“Yessum. Wait a while for a good rain and another will pop up out of the ground, you can bet your ass. Like weeds. Which one are you wanting to pluck out of our soil, sir?” he said to me.

“I only have a birthday on him. Sorry. No suffix.”

“You have paperwork?”

“I do.”

“Hold on now,” he said, smiling ear to ear at his own joke. “We just met. I don’t even know your name yet. You should at least ask me to dinner first,” he said and laughed. “And my mother will want to meet you, too. My mother, of course, being the sheriff. I’ll buzz you back. I am sure one of our investigators’ll help you sort things out.”

“Thank you,” I mouthed, despite knowing he’d never hear what I had to say and not wanting to waste my breath.

On the other side of the solid steel door stood a man in a blaze orange polo shirt who waved me into an office on the far side of the room. There wasn’t an alligator sitting on his chest but a pistolero wearing a sombrero and a horseshoe mustache with a handkerchief tied around its neck.

I couldn’t stop blinking under all that needling fluorescent light reflecting off those institutional white walls. The detective’s neon orange State shirt wasn’t helping matters any either. I can only imagine the impression I made with all of the blinking and darting my eyes here and there every few seconds.

We shook hands, and he said something. His name, most likely, which I could not catch over the bug zapper sounds of the lights just inches overhead. I think I offered my name in return. Either way, he let go of my hand, and I followed him into his office.

“Which bondsman did you say you work for again?” he said, unsure of why I’d been buzzed back to see him.

“Metro Bail Bonds LLC.”

“Ah, you’re from the City?” he said, closing his door.

“The City?” I said.

“OKC,” he explained.

I shook my head and said, “Kansas City, Kansas. The one no one ever talks about.”

“Kansas City? There’s not enough of us to have spare time to serve divorce papers, as much as some of the guys here would like to make the extra cash. We surely cannot act on a bench warrant from another county. Another state’s out of the question. You understand, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re free to poke around and see if he’s come home, but we cannot assist if he gives you any trouble when you attempt to take him into custody. And, I’m sure you know, but,” he said, clearing his throat. “If it gets ugly or out of hand enough for some neighbor to give our dispatchers a holler, we’ll treat you like an ordinary civilian. No offense, it’s how it is with your profession in our state.”

“Yes, thank you, I—I am aware, and I know you got to cover your ass, too,” I said, doing my best to come off like a seasoned veteran.

“Drumgoole’s not one to stand and fight. He’s a runner.”

“Yessir. I am aware. Best I can tell, he made a beeline straight here,” I said and set his case file down on the detective’s desk.

“Would you mind if I take a minute to look over his papers and bond agreement?”

“Go right ahead. I prefer to dot all my Is and cross my Ts, rather than get shot by some deputy thinking I’m kidnapping a man.”

“Smart,” he said with a laugh and tipped his head to the side, lifted that same shoulder while scrunching up the corner of his mouth on that same side of his face to show he understood my meaning and where I was coming from.

I sat there while he pulled the file into his lap and read, skimmed, went over every scrap of paper I’d brought with me—front and back.

“Kansas City, Kansas?” he said with a surprise to his tone while he hoisted his left ankle up onto his right knee. “Here I thought he was roughnecking over in Cushing. Explains why he hasn’t graced our jailhouse with his presence yet this year,” he said, sounding almost disappointed.

“He didn’t give his full name. No suffix, at least. I have his birthdate, though. Social security number and so on.”

“It sounds like something Junior would do,” he said and cleared his throat. “He likes to pretend he’s the patriarch.”

“Nineteenth of August, sixty-nine,” I said as I read the date my employer had on file aloud to the detective.

“Junior is in the neighborhood of thirty-five-years of age. Senior’s serving a life sentence for serial arson southeast of here. Big Mac is what we call it—in case you ask around for directions,” he said, looking dead at me to make sure I was taking note of what he had to offer. “It’s outside the city of McAlester if you want to see if he’s gone to visit his daddy since he’s come back—”

“If he’s come back,” I interjected.

“His boy, the Third,” he said while he crushed out a cigarette he’d left to smolder in a nearby ashtray, “isn’t old enough to be a guest of anything but our juvenile lockup—which he currently isn’t. Unless he’s been brought in during the time since you and I began our conversation.”

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

“If you can get him to talk, go for it. You’re more than welcome to try,” he said. “You’ve got his wife’s information there. If there’s money involved, she’d like some. She’ll rattle off everything she can if she gets a piece of the pie.”

“She’s his common-law wife.”

“Is that so? Interesting. She sure uses his name like they’re wed. If he owes money, child support, or whatever. Work that angle with her. Sound good, Mr. Kincaid?” he said and stood back up from his chair. “If there’s nothing else, I need to get back to my own set of problems.”