Ranger: Book 1: A Humble Beginning Page 3

  “No, I just did what felt right.”

  “Were you in fear of your life at any time during the event?”

  “No, not really.”

  “How do you feel about the bank employees calling you a hero?”

  “Well shucks, ma’am. I’m not a hero. The people who put on a military uniform and go off to faraway lands, they’re heroes. Firemen who go into burning buildings to save others, they’re heroes. Doctors and nurses who save lives each and every day and consider it routine, they’re heroes. I’m just a man trying to do his job the best way he can. And, well shucks, that don’t make me a hero.”

  If the reporter was looking for an egomaniac willing to brag on himself she was shortchanged. The truth was, Randy was a terrible candidate for an interview. But he was genuine, and likeable.

  And the audience loved him.

  For the next sixty days, the publicity officer had him going from here to there around the Austin area. Accepting an award for bravery from the mayor. And another one from the First Union Bank. An elementary school declared “Ranger Randy Day” and invited him to have lunch with the children and give a speech. He didn’t like the speech part much, but enjoyed the time he spent with the children.

  The television interview won him a couple of other things too.

  It effectively got rid of the Randall moniker. Randall was replaced with a brand spanking new nickname. For many years to come, he’d be called “Ah Shucks” by his fellow Rangers.

  He didn’t mind it much. It was better than Randall.

  He also won the heart of Melissa, who was enamored by his boyish charm, good looks and sweet nature.

  The two dated, but not too seriously. He was honest from the beginning, telling her he had no plans to marry while he wore the Ranger badge.

  “So give it up,” she’d told him. “A man like you, you can do anything you want to do. You don’t have to work in a job where your wife has to worry about you every time you go off to work.”

  “I can’t give it up. It’s in my blood. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  She tried to change his mind, but to no avail. Finally she told him her biological clock was ticking.

  “I want to have children before I get too old to enjoy them. I want to have your children, but you won’t marry me. I have to say goodbye.”

  Her leaving hurt Randy, but he knew going in that it was inevitable. He could have chosen her over his career, sure. And she was probably right. He didn’t have to be a Ranger. He could have been anything.

  But he’d made his choice, long before he met her.

  He wished her well, promised they’d always be friends, and rode off into the proverbial sunset.

  Chapter 7

  Randy was transferred to a Ranger company in his hometown of Lubbock, at the base of the Texas panhandle.

  Lubbock was most famous for its favorite son, rock ‘n’ roll singer Buddy Holly. And dust storms.

  Dust storms. That’s what they called them when Randy was a kid. Sometime around the time he started his senior year at Lubbock High School the local TV station provided videotape of something they called a “haboob.”

  “What in heck is a haboob?” Randy asked his science teacher.

  “Heck if I know, Randy. Some bigwig meteorologist at the National Weather Service says it’s a haboob, so I guess that’s what everybody’ll start calling them now. I personally don’t see what was wrong with ‘dust storm.’”

  “Well, it’ll always be a dust storm to me.”

  Randy was a simple guy, even back then. Ranger school hadn’t changed him much. He did his job well, kept his nose clean and kept a low profile.

  Many of his friends from Lubbock High hadn’t even been aware there was a Texas Ranger detachment in Lubbock. Ranger Company C had been there for many years, in a small office in the Mahon Federal Building across the street from the courthouse. The office was tiny in comparison to the offices of other federal agencies who were a bit more pretentious. It was also rumored to be haunted, as Randy found out the day he reported.

  “Am I working day shift or nights?” he inquired of his new commander, Major John Shultz.

  “Oh, we’ll work you strictly on days, unless you’re on special assignment or doing a stakeout. We try to stay out of this office as much as possible during nighttime, ever since Waylor left us high and dry.”

  “Waylor? Who’s Waylor?”

  “Bob Waylor. He was a young pup, just like yourself. Kinda skittish and nervous, like a stray puppy. Used to man the office on night shift, until he finally got so much of Henry’s ghost he couldn’t take it anymore. Put in for a transfer to Clay County, just to get out of here.”

  Randy looked the major in the eye. He didn’t see a hint of humor, or anything else to indicate the ghost tale was fantasy.

  “Henry’s ghost?”

  “Henry Jenkins. He was a cowboy, died about the age of thirty two. Back in the early 1900s this part of Texas was still mostly untamed. There was a big hotel here on this spot, the Nicolett. Three stories, and the finest hotel within three hundred miles in any direction, it was said.

  “Anyway, in the early teens young Henry Jenkins was a guest of the hotel and died in his bed, of pneumonia. We did some checking after Waylor skedaddled, and figured out that old Henry’s bed was on the third floor, west corner, of the Nicolett Hotel.

  “Right about where you’re sitting right now.”

  Randy was unmoved. He didn’t necessarily believe in ghosts. But he didn’t necessarily disbelieve in them either.

  The major went on.

  “Anyway, there’s no denying that strange things happen in this office sometimes. You’ll see it yourself. Strange thumping sounds within the walls. Cold drafts, even though the windows are all sealed. Things being moved around from where you left them, even when the office is locked.

  “Waylor was on night duty. He claimed all that stuff was ten times worse when the sun went down. Said he heard more, too. A man coughing and sometimes crying, even though all the other offices on the floor were locked up tighter than a drum. He said he’d hear those things several times a night, and it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. Finally he heard a man cry out, ‘God help me, I’m dying.’

  “He put in his papers the very next day, said he’d go to any company in the state that wasn’t in Lubbock, Texas. So they sent him to Clay County. We haven’t had a night shift since.

  “Anyway, after he was gone, curiosity got the best of me so I did some checking. That’s when I discovered that his hotel room was the same place as our office is now. Henry Jenkins, he was taken from the Nicolett Hotel when he died and was buried in a plot of land southeast of here. Turns out some ranchers donated some acreage to the newly founded city of Lubbock to use as a cemetery. Young Jenkins was the very first man buried in it.

  “He didn’t even have a headstone until sometime later, when the city gave him one. It said ‘Here Lies Henry Jenkins, A Cowboy, About Age 32.’ Seems no one knew him well enough to know exactly how old he was so they guessed.”

  Randy’s curiosity was piqued, but just a tiny bit.

  “Do you really believe all of that, sir?”

  “Oh, I know it for a fact. I did the research.”

  “No. I mean about Henry’s ghost haunting this office.”

  “Well, I don’t know, son. I do know that there’s some strange goings on here in the daytime. I can personally attest to that. As for the night time, I can’t say. I never spent a night here myself.

  “I’m married and old, you see. My traveling days as a Ranger are past me now. When I got this billet, I promised my wife I’d spend nights with her again to make up for all those years I couldn’t. I’m a man of my word and even if I wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter much.

  “My wife is the kind of woman you don’t break a promise to. Once someone makes Nellie a promise, she holds them to it. She’d have my ass in a wringer if I ever tried to spend a night up here af
ter telling her I wouldn’t. I can tell you one thing about Henry’s ghost. Ranger Waylor believed in it enough to light out of here like his horse was on fire. He even no-showed the farewell dinner we planned for him so he could get out quicker. He called us from the road to tell us to eat his plate for him, he was already halfway to his new assignment.

  “I’ll tell you what, though. If you want to find out for yourself, you just feel free. Your key will fit the office door any time of day and you can spend as many nights up here as you want. Just let me know how that works out for you.”

  Randy was always up for either a dare or a good challenge. This sounded like both.

  “Let me get settled in first and I’ll take you up on it.”

  Chapter 8

  A week after his return to Lubbock, Randy went to the city’s Lowrey Field to watch his Lubbock High School Westerners play the nearby town of Dimmit.

  He ran into several old friends, who were skeptical about Randy’s claims about being based in Lubbock.

  “Hell, there ain’t no Texas Rangers in Lubbock. If there were then surely we would’ve heard about them. Hey, Red,” one of them called to another friend who happened by. “You heard tell of any Texas Rangers based here in Lubbock?”

  “Hell, the Texas Rangers is a damn baseball team. Are you stupid, or what?”

  Randy was flustered.

  “Do you guys really have to use that kind of language? I mean, the point you’re making doesn’t gain any strength by adding those words. Why make women and children blush by your choice of language?”

  “Oh hell, Randy. There ain’t no women or children around here that don’t hear those words at least ten times a day. The only one around here who don’t like ‘em is you. And I’ve never understood why. Why in hell is that, Randy?”

  “I don’t know, Red. I just don’t think the words are necessary, that’s all.”

  “Randy, I like you. You’re a good man. I try not to use the words around you because I know you’re a classy guy and because you’re one of my best friends. But I think you’re pulling my leg about being stationed here. There ain’t no Ranger company in Lubbock, and that’s for darn sure.

  “Did you catch that, old friend? I said darn instead of damn. Just for you.”

  “Thank you, Red. I appreciate it.”

  Truth was, Ranger Company C kept such a low profile that many Lubbock residents would have guessed they’d have to drive all the way down to Austin, three hundred and fifty miles away, just to see a real live Ranger.

  The Rangers were tasked with a variety of things, from investigating corruption among police departments and sheriff’s offices to assisting federal marshals in making arrests to providing security details for visiting dignitaries and politicians.

  But they were seldom written up in the local newspaper. Almost never appeared on the local nightly news.

  And that was the way they preferred it. The Rangers were like the ninjas of law enforcers. When they did their job well, they were never seen, never talked about, never credited.

  Randy didn’t have to go to Lubbock. He was offered the opportunity to be a member of Governor John Samson’s security team, but he turned it down. Other Rangers told him he was a fool. A billet with the governor, they said, was a ticket to high places in the Ranger organization later in his career.

  But Randy was a simple man with a simple plan. He was to be the best Ranger Texas ever had. Then he was going to hang up his spurs and put an end to the family legacy.

  Besides, Lubbock was his home. There was no other place on earth like it. Only the natives understood how special the place was. A lot of them wanted to keep it a secret. The thinking was, if the world found out what a jewel Lubbock was, outsiders would flock there. It would lose its small town feel. And that would ruin everything.

  Randy left the game when his Westerners had a comfortable three touchdown lead and went to a local bar with Red and the boys. They sat at a large table in the center of the room and focused their attention on a wall-mounted television showing a college game.

  He ordered a Dr. Pepper and a bag of peanuts.

  “Sorry, sir. We don’t have any shelled peanuts. We have some over there on the bar but they’re still in the shell. I’ll bring you a bowl if you don’t mind shelling them.”

  “Ah, shucks. I don’t mind shellin’ ‘em, if you don’t mind bringin’ ‘em.”

  “‘Oh, shucks?’ Are you from around here?”

  “Born and raised. Went to Lubbock High. Why?”

  “Oh, just wonderin’, that’s all. We don’t get a lot of guys in here saying ‘oh, shucks and drinkin’ Dr. Pepper.”

  She smiled.

  “I’ll go get your peanuts, Dudley Doo-Right. Be right back.”

  Red chuckled about “Dudley Doo-Right” and focused on a girl sitting alone at the end of the bar.

  “She sure is pretty.”

  “Far too pretty for the likes of you, Red.”

  Budweiser spewed from Red’s nose and he coughed heartily. After he finally caught his breath he said to his friends, “Did y’all hear that? Randy dogged me. In all the years I’ve known him… hell, since grade school, he’s never dogged me out, not even once.”

  One of their buddies raised a bottle to Randy.

  “Nice going, Randy. It’s about time somebody shut Red up and made him choke on his beer. About damn time.”

  Red said, “Yeah, yeah… but Randy? Seriously? Who’d have ever thought?”

  The server placed a bowl full of unshelled peanuts on the table in front of Randy and said, “These are on the house. So’s the Dr. Pepper. Let me know when you need a refill of either.”

  “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

  She walked away with the sweetest smile.

  Chapter 9

  Randy caught a hot case on his third day on the job. He and his partner, Tom Cohen, were called upon to investigate a small town police department in Hale County, just north of Lubbock.

  There were allegations that the chief of police of a six man department was looking the other way as a Mexican drug cartel took over his town. The story went that the cartel then used the tiny town as a base to manufacture and deliver drugs not only to Lubbock, but north to Amarillo as well.

  If confirmed, the charges were not only serious. They were troubling as well. For they would call to light a new tactic for Mexican drug lords. They’d always infiltrated the big and moderate sized cities. Had plied their trade with numerous well-trained officers watching out for them and breathing down their necks.

  In smaller towns, with fewer and less well-trained officers, they were far more likely to practice their trade and dispense their drugs with impunity. It would also give them a safe haven to retreat to when the heat in the larger cities grew too hot to handle.

  The pair of Rangers crawled into their Ford F-150 pickup and made the seventy mile drive north to the sleepy little town of Belton, population 985.

  Instead of barging into the police department, tossing around accusations and demanding answers, they drove into town and pulled up to a local diner.

  Their pickup truck and cowboy hats enabled them to blend in with the locals. And although neither of them knew a boll weevil from a cricket, they were able to mingle easily with the local farmers.

  At least to outsiders.

  They had a hearty breakfast. Bacon and eggs for Randy, Flapjacks and sausage for Tom, and made small talk with the waitress. A painfully thin woman with graying hair, Janice claimed to know everything about everybody.

  “Hell, I’ve lived in Belton since before Christ was a corporal. I was the first baby born in the Belton Clinic when they opened their doors fifty seven years ago. I was the last patient they served before they closed their doors six months ago. Got taken over by some big medical corporation. Said it wasn’t cost effective to keep it open any more. Said Obamacare was forcing them to consolidate their operations in the big cites, close the ones in the little towns. Now if that don’t beat all.
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  “Now we gotta go down to Lubbock or up to Amarillo, even to get a damn prescription filled. It just ain’t right.”

  Then she caught herself.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I tend to get sidetracked. The short answer to your question… yes, I know pretty much everything that goes on around here. What kind of information were you guys looking for, exactly?”

  “We’re bounty hunters. We’d appreciate it if you’d keep what we tell you to yourself.”

  There weren’t a lot of other customers in the diner on Highway 87. It had been rather slow all morning, and Janice loved to be the first in on the latest gossip.

  She looked around, then sat down next to Randy and across the booth from Tom.

  In a conspiratorial tone she said, “Go on. Who ya lookin’ for?”

  “Can’t give you any names. Just descriptions. Names wouldn’t do you any good, since they’ve each got a dozen aliases. Mexicans. Not locals. The ones who come up here from Mexico and keep to themselves. They don’t speak any English, or very little of it. They probably just show their faces in town occasionally to buy a meal or to buy beer or smokes at a local convenience store. Have you seen anyone like that?”

  “Hell, mister. This here’s cotton country. We see so many of those kind you can’t even count ‘em all. Especially when it comes time to do the strippin’. They’re all over the place.”

  “I don’t mean laborers. I mean men that drive nice trucks. Wear decent clothes. Not suits, but not ragged discount store jeans either. And watches. Men with money wear nice watches, even when they’re trying to look like everybody else.”

  “Say, what’d these guys do, anyway?”

  “They were in jail in El Paso for bank robbery. They bonded out and vamoosed. The bond agent wants ‘em back so he’s not on the hook for their bonds.”

  “Maybe they vamoosed back to Mexico, where they came from.”

  “Nope. We have them on video at a convenience store in San Angelo. They bought cigarettes and got friendly with a night clerk who spoke fluent Spanish. Said they were headed this way. That they knew some people hereabouts and they were gonna hide out here for awhile and lay low.”