Matthew B. McDonough, author of Cajun Omelette, is an writer specializing in crime fiction, mystery, and noir based in Upstate New York.
*****
As Stephen entered the passenger side of Kenny’s car, he knew he was in for a day that would require a short memory. Kenny, a fellow deputy assigned to the Warrant Squad of the Tangipahoa Parish Sheriff’s Office, had been looking for Diego Griffin again. This time, Diego had taken things a little too far with his old lady, tuned her up real bad. Kenny had gone to school with Diego’s wife, they weren’t close, but he had known her since they were kids.
“Just the two of us working the case this morning?” asked Stephen.
“It’s all we need, we’re just going to head down to Ponchatoula and speak with Forrest,” said Kenny.
Kenny didn’t know which one of Diego’s dirtbag friends was hiding him out this time. But he knew who did. Forrest Sanchez was Diego’s right hand man. He didn’t do anything without having Forrest in the loop.
Kenny and Stephen pulled up in front of Forrest’s house in their marked squad car. There was no need to be discrete, they knew Diego was not there. Forrest’s house was a dump on the south end of Ponchatoula that had random car and motor parts spread out through the yard.
Kenny and Stephen pulled up in front of Forrest’s house in their marked squad car. There was no need to be discrete…
There was two old cars and a pickup truck in the driveway, but it was doubtful any of them were running. Kenny passed the driveway and parked on the street in front of the house, just in case they needed to make a fast exit. This was far from the first time they had visited Forrest, but today felt more serious to Stephen. Kenny had been furious about the beating Diego put on his wife, who was now sitting in the hospital.
Stephen knocked on the door. He didn’t knock like a cop, just a polite little “rat-tat-tat.” Forrest opened the door and was surprised to see the two fully uniformed deputies standing on his porch.
“I don’t have shi…” Forrest began to say as he was cut off by a quick right cross to the mouth from Kenny.
Forrest fell back, shocked that the deputy had just struck him. Forrest had had his ass kicked by the police before, but there was usually more of a buildup. Forrest fell to the floor, doing his best impression of a basketball player flopping after being fouled a little hard.
“The man didn’t even ask you anything yet, Forrest,” said Stephen.
“I don’t know where he is!” yelled Forrest.
Stephen leaned over Forrest. Wham! Stephen threw a solid overhand right. He didn’t want to cause any real damage, so he took a little off of it. Now, Kenny knew that Stephen was in just as deep as he was and they could focus on getting the job done.
“You want to protect your friend. I can appreciate that, Forrest. I really can. But here’s the reality, there are two scenarios that are possible here today. You feed us shit, we beat the piss out of you, and you go to jail. Or, the much more favorable ‘Scenario Number Two’, you tell us where Diego is and we leave here today with nobody even knowing we were ever here,” explained Kenny.
“The only issue is you don’t have time to think about it,” said Stephen taking a step toward Forrest.
“Ok, don’t hit me!” Forrest said trying to protect his face with his hands. “South street, third house on the left. It’s a green house with black shutters. It’s his sidepiece’s house. Alana is here name,” Forrest said with a defeated tone.
“Was that so hard? Let me find out you’re lying, and the next time I see you, I’ll leave you right where I find you,” said Kenny.
“He’s there,” said Forrest.
Kenny called the cavalry and explained that they had received an anonymous tip on Diego’s location. Within the hour, Diego was in custody.
After the arrest, Kenny and Stephen got back into Kenny’s car to head to a late breakfast.
“If you want to make a cajun omelette, you have to crack some eggs,” said Kenny.
*****
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