{"id":402,"date":"2024-06-26T22:14:39","date_gmt":"2024-06-26T22:14:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/?page_id=402"},"modified":"2024-07-16T21:31:05","modified_gmt":"2024-07-16T21:31:05","slug":"hear-evil-2","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/hear-evil-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Hear Evil"},"content":{"rendered":"

[vc_section el_id=”booki-blo” woodmart_css_id=”666ce08fbeca7″ responsive_spacing=”eyJwYXJhbV90eXBlIjoid29vZG1hcnRfcmVzcG9uc2l2ZV9zcGFjaW5nIiwic2VsZWN0b3JfaWQiOiI2NjZjZTA4ZmJlY2E3Iiwic2hvcnRjb2RlIjoidmNfc2VjdGlvbiIsImRhdGEiOnsidGFibGV0Ijp7fSwibW9iaWxlIjp7fX19″ mobile_bg_img_hidden=”no” tablet_bg_img_hidden=”no” woodmart_parallax=”0″ woodmart_gradient_switch=”no” woodmart_box_shadow=”no” wd_z_index=”no” woodmart_disable_overflow=”0″][vc_row][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Sample chapters from Hear Evil,
\nBook Two in the Ro Delahanty Series” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:40|text_align:center|color:%23af2405″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1719439764007{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1718411046127{padding-top: 50px !important;}” woodmart_css_id=”666cdf1e1f431″ responsive_spacing=”eyJwYXJhbV90eXBlIjoid29vZG1hcnRfcmVzcG9uc2l2ZV9zcGFjaW5nIiwic2VsZWN0b3JfaWQiOiI2NjZjZGYxZTFmNDMxIiwic2hvcnRjb2RlIjoidmNfcm93IiwiZGF0YSI6eyJ0YWJsZXQiOnt9LCJtb2JpbGUiOnt9fX0=” mobile_bg_img_hidden=”no” tablet_bg_img_hidden=”no” woodmart_parallax=”0″ woodmart_gradient_switch=”no” woodmart_box_shadow=”no” wd_z_index=”no” woodmart_disable_overflow=”0″ row_reverse_mobile=”0″ row_reverse_tablet=”0″][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Chapter One” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23af2405″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718411206520{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][vc_custom_heading text=”10-10 \u2013 Fight in Progress” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23000000″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1719439785248{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column]\t\t\t \t\t\t\t\t

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Sunday, Aug. 17, 2003, 1:42 a.m.<\/em><\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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A<\/strong>rmstrong One-Nine was southbound on County V, as was her routine, some eight or ten miles under the posted forty-five limit. At a mild seventy degrees and clear, it was also her habit to have the patrol car\u2019s windows down so she could not only see what was happening around her but also hear it and even smell it. It was important to Fort Armstrong County Deputy Sheriff Ro Delahanty to know her patrol area.
\nIn her little over six weeks as a deputy, Ro had already come to think of this flat and straight stretch of two-lane blacktop as the county\u2019s \u201chorse country.\u201d Every few hundred feet was a \u201cranchette,\u201d which is what the real estate people called the five-acre home plots. Fronting the road were modern, rambling ranch-style homes, this time of night most lit up by grass-level floodlights. Behind were low, pole-style barns and hundreds of feet of white rail fencing. If she drove through the area toward the end of her shift soon after dawn, she could usually see horses grazing or rollicking in the pastures.
\nAs was also her practice, Ro noted changes on her route, even little things like the \u201cfor sale\u201d sign in the front yard of one of the ranchettes now with a \u201csold\u201d sticker pasted across it. On the market for many months, Ro muttered, \u201cHmm, I\u2019ll have to look up how much they actually got, because their original $499,000 asking price had seemed way high, unless, of course, the bathroom fixtures were gold plated.\u201d
\nHer plan was to spend the next hour working some of the little-used gravel secondary roads serving the corn and bean farms in the southern end of her patrol sector with curious names like Danska Road, Veasey Road, Two-Mile Road and Tangier Road. Her self-imposed goal was to visit them several times a week.
\nA quarter moon meant much of what she was passing was only varying degrees of black \u2013 open fields tended to be a dark gray, illuminated by the Lee\u2019s Landing city glow a short distance to the east, while wooded areas were a deep, shadowy black.
\nAbout to signal her right turn onto County Road M, another two-lane blacktop, Ro\u2019s radio squawked. It was Midge Evans, one of the third shift dispatchers, her southern drawl obvious as Ro\u2019s call sign of \u201cArmstrong One-Nine\u201d came out sounding more like \u201cAhmstrawn Won-Nie-un.\u201d
\nRo lifted the mike from its dashboard bracket, \u201cOne-Nine.\u201d
\n\u201cOne-Nine, 10-10 Corky\u2019s. Back-up 10-76. 10-B.\u201d
\nWhich in police lingo translated as: Fight in progress at Corky\u2019s; back-up en route; fight involves Big Foot.
\n\u201cOne-Nine, 10-04. En route, 10-77 five\u201d \u2013 message acknowledged; estimated time of arrival five minutes.
\nCorky\u2019s was a popular Country-Western bar on the outskirts of Lee\u2019s Landing, but out in the county, thus in Ro\u2019s jurisdiction. It had a reputation for being a rough place. The \u201cback-up\u201d meant at least two of the other deputies on duty were heading her way.
\nCounty V continued south to intersect with Iowa Rte. 20, a four-lane, and almost literally bumps right into Corky\u2019s \u2013 it was not over two miles from her present location. With lights and siren, which were activated by flipping a couple of switches below the patrol car\u2019s mobile data terminal (MDT), Ro could be there in five minutes, probably less.
\n\u201cWell, Mr. Pete, this is it,\u201d she said aloud to her patrol car, with both relief \u201cthe call\u201d she knew was inevitable had come and more than a little apprehension at the prospect of having to face Big Foot, finally.
\nThe black and white cruiser was nicknamed in honor of a three-foot tall teddy bear, named Peter Panda, received as a gift on her second birthday; it still sat in an honored spot on the dresser in her apartment\u2019s bedroom.
\n\u201cIt\u201d was a call Ro herself had made more than a few times as a third shift dispatcher and knew sooner or later would be on the receiving end as a sworn deputy.
\n\u201c10-B\u201d was a unique ten-code made up years ago by the local dispatchers to warn deputies that the fight call at Corky\u2019s involved Big Foot, but without having to say his name over the air. What it really meant was wait for at least two more deputies as back-up before going in.
\nBig Foot was a regular at Corky\u2019s. Most of the time, while a little boisterous, he was a law-abiding citizen. However, when he got his temper up, and had had a few drinks, which seemed to happen every few months, it often resulted in broken furniture, maybe a broken nose and at least a trio of deputies needed to wrestle him to the floor and into handcuffs.
\nApproaching the stop sign where County V ended in a T-intersection at Iowa 20 \u2013 Corky\u2019s fronted on Rte. 20 a hundred yards to her right on the other side of the highway \u2013 Ro picked up the mic, \u201cFort Armstrong One-Nine.\u201d
\n\u201cOne-Nine go.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat\u2019s 10-77 on my back-up?\u201d
\n\u201cFifteen\u201d \u2212 fifteen minutes.
\nChecking both ways for any oncoming traffic, Ro slowed down, went through the stop sign, and turned right onto the highway, pleased with herself at not leaving any squeal marks behind; screeching tire turns were for movie cops.
\nWith a shrug, Ro muttered to herself, \u201cDamn, the guys must\u2019ve been on the other side of the county. Lucky me\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t[\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1718411046127{padding-top: 50px !important;}” woodmart_css_id=”666cdf1e1f431″ responsive_spacing=”eyJwYXJhbV90eXBlIjoid29vZG1hcnRfcmVzcG9uc2l2ZV9zcGFjaW5nIiwic2VsZWN0b3JfaWQiOiI2NjZjZGYxZTFmNDMxIiwic2hvcnRjb2RlIjoidmNfcm93IiwiZGF0YSI6eyJ0YWJsZXQiOnt9LCJtb2JpbGUiOnt9fX0=” mobile_bg_img_hidden=”no” tablet_bg_img_hidden=”no” woodmart_parallax=”0″ woodmart_gradient_switch=”no” woodmart_box_shadow=”no” wd_z_index=”no” woodmart_disable_overflow=”0″ row_reverse_mobile=”0″ row_reverse_tablet=”0″][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Chapter Two” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23af2405″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718412474420{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][vc_custom_heading text=”Ro\u2019s Quandary” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23000000″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1719439954672{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”]\t\t

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Saturday, January 31, 2009, 5:25 p.m.<\/em><\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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T<\/strong>he single female deputy on the force, \u201cthe guys\u201d meant the other deputies being sent as back-up. It meant her dilemma was to either wait for them to arrive \u2013 except fifteen minutes was a long time during which there might be considerable damage done to Corky\u2019s furniture, to the combatants themselves, or, worse yet, to innocent bystanders \u2013 or go in and face Big Foot single-handed.
\nBut that wasn\u2019t her major concern. In her police academy training they\u2019d spent an entire day on techniques, from verbal to physical, for breaking-up fights. The first choice was always to separate the foes and cool them off using a combination of authoritative commands and pacifying reassurance, in other words, talk them out of their scrap. She also had a collapsible baton in a scabbard on her kit belt and there was always her black belt judo training to fall back on if the verbal calming technique wasn\u2019t successful.
\nThe Sig Sauer P 229 .375 on her left hip was THE last resort to be used only if things went to hell in a handbasket and one or both of the adversaries produced a weapon and presented a clear threat to someone\u2019s life, either one of theirs, a bystander\u2019s, or her own.
\nRather, her quandary was knowing there were deputies on the force not keen on female cops and who would interpret her waiting for back-up, even though it was what other deputies had routinely done many times before, as a sign of weakness: The girl cop needed to wait for \u201cthe guys\u201d to come save her. It made her decision an easy one.
\nCorky\u2019s was a wide, single-story building with a tall, brightly colored cowboy hat-shaped sign next to the highway. The marquee said the evening\u2019s featured band was The Bobbin Twins. Even at two in the morning there were a dozen pickups, nearly as many motorcycles, and a smattering of sedans in the parking lot.
\nSwitching off the siren, but leaving the light bar flashing, Ro pulled into an open area near the bar\u2019s double-door entrance. Stepping out of the car and squaring her shoulders, she made sure her \u201ccop face\u201d was in place \u2013 teeth clenched and a slight frown, giving her what she hoped was a serious, no nonsense look. And unconsciously adjusted the big Sig Sauer on her left hip, a little like a knight making sure the hilt of his sword was free and ready if needed.
\nOn an intellectual level Ro understood her uniform was nothing but some khaki cloth and the five-pointed star above her left breast was only some stamped metal, yet was proud of both. To her they made her part of a protective fraternity going back thousands of years \u2013 the Spartans, the Samurai, the first \u201ccoppers\u201d in Britain.
\nHaving never been inside Corky\u2019s before, Ro did a quick glance around. On the left was a long bar with two bartenders, one male, one female, neither young. On the right was a bright, slightly elevated bandstand with two singers, their striking resemblance marking them as the Bobbin Twins, holding acoustic guitars; behind them were a drummer, a keyboardist, and a slide guitar player; but nobody was singing or playing.
\nIn front of the bandstand was a large dance floor surrounded by tables and chairs, with most of the illumination coming from a dozen neon beer signs featuring Western-style brews like Lone Star and Olympia \u2013 no snooty craft beers sold here.
\nThe place smelled of beer and body sweat but with a hint of aftershave.
\nThe crowd of at least three dozen gathered around the edge of the dance floor was watching two men, one large and one very large, grappling with one another.<\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t[\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1718411046127{padding-top: 50px !important;}” woodmart_css_id=”666cdf1e1f431″ responsive_spacing=”eyJwYXJhbV90eXBlIjoid29vZG1hcnRfcmVzcG9uc2l2ZV9zcGFjaW5nIiwic2VsZWN0b3JfaWQiOiI2NjZjZGYxZTFmNDMxIiwic2hvcnRjb2RlIjoidmNfcm93IiwiZGF0YSI6eyJ0YWJsZXQiOnt9LCJtb2JpbGUiOnt9fX0=” mobile_bg_img_hidden=”no” tablet_bg_img_hidden=”no” woodmart_parallax=”0″ woodmart_gradient_switch=”no” woodmart_box_shadow=”no” wd_z_index=”no” woodmart_disable_overflow=”0″ row_reverse_mobile=”0″ row_reverse_tablet=”0″][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Chapter Three” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23af2405″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718412686382{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][vc_custom_heading text=”Only a Threat to Themselves and Some Furniture” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23000000″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1719440010826{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”]\t\t

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Sunday, Aug. 17, 2003, 1:49 a.m.<\/em><\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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W<\/strong>hile many in the crowd were shouting, Ro could detect no real anger in their tone; in fact, there was a good deal of laughter.
\nSomeone yelled, \u201cLook out Buck, Big Foot\u2019s goin\u2019 for the bear hug!\u201d
\nAnd someone else called, \u201cWhatsa matter Big Foot, Buck too fast for ya?\u201d
\nRo frowned, suddenly realizing, These guys aren\u2019t fighting; they\u2019ve had a couple too many beers and are just horsing around.
\nIt was obvious which \u201ccombatant\u201d was Big Foot because as a dispatcher she had seen him escorted into the county jail in handcuffs by a couple of deputies more than a few times. At six-feet-seven and well over three-hundred pounds, with longish auburn hair and a full, gray-streaked beard, he resembled the Grizzly Adams-character on the 70s TV show. In an alternate life he might have become a professional wrestler or a starting lineman for a pro football team, but in this one he worked for the Grand Island Railroad humping freight cars at the sprawling Sardee Switching Yards several miles to the west.
\nBuck was \u201csmaller\u201d than Big Foot, maybe \u201conly\u201d six-two and two-hundred-fifty pounds, and not in as good a shape, a big beer belly hanging over his belt. He had long sideburns but no beard.
\nNow circling one another with their fists up, like prizefighters, Buck took a roundhouse swing at Big Foot, who side-stepped it with ease. Both ended up off balance, nearly falling to the floor.
\n\u201cYou punch like a little girl, Buck,\u201d Big Foot taunted, but with no obvious malice.
\nSeeing what an actual \u201cfight,\u201d at least one involving Big Foot was like, it made sense to Ro why the deputies had always logged him in as a \u201cdisorderly conduct,\u201d but in the morning didn\u2019t book him, instead transporting him back to Corky\u2019s to retrieve his motorcycle after he\u2019d slept it off.
\nThey\u2019re no threat to anybody except themselves if one lands a lucky punch, and maybe some furniture.
\nShe pushed through the crowd, \u201cDeputy sheriff! Make way!\u201d
\n\u201cUh oh, the cops are here,\u201d several people called, laughing. \u201cYou guys are in big trouble now!\u201d
\nAs Ro stepped out of the crowd, Big Foot and Buck were dancing around, jockeying for a position to try and take the other down. Big Foot\u2019s back was to Ro.
\nReaching up \u2013 even at five-ten-and-a-half it was a reach up for her, as Big Foot was nearly a head taller and outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds \u2013 she tapped Big Foot on the shoulder.
\n\u201cDeputy sheriff! Come on guys, let\u2019s call it a night,\u201d trying to sound more like a teacher settling down an unruly group of second graders than a cop giving an order.
\nBig Foot wheeled around and moved toward Ro with outstretched arms, as if he wanted to push her away, except a slight smile playing around his eyes suggested he\u2019d been looking forward to the deputies arriving.
\nAh, this is a game to you, a badge of honor because it always takes two or three deputies to bring you down.
\nBut Ro also understood her just being there now constituted a challenge to Big Foot. There was no retreating to wait for back-up; she needed to \u201cwin\u201d against Big Foot but not in such a way he would lose dignity.
\n\u201cWin, yes, but never humiliate your opponent,\u201d her judo sensei had advocated many times to his students.<\/p>\n

\u00a9 2024 by David F. Ramacitti, writing as Dave Lager<\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t[\/vc_column][\/vc_row][\/vc_section]<\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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