It was not quite a week ago that Tag Halvorsen accused his girlfriend of “contemplating mischief.”
They had spent a couple of hours in the kitchen of Up North, pouring over an in-depth research report he’d paid for about the Pribyls and their World of Wheels empire, the kind of due diligence a company conducts when contemplating a merger or buyout of another business. On the surface, the detailed, forty-page spreadsheet-filled document presented a picture of an aggressive, but otherwise entirely legal operation.
However, the report also seemed to reveal aspects that, if looked at from a different angle, and perhaps with a suspicious eye, hinted at red flags, that something else could be going on behind the scenes.
It was Ro’s expression when she shared with Tag her idea for how to get a look at the Pribyls’ operation from that “different angle” that prompted his mischief comment.
She was about to arrange that “mischief.”

***

“Well, hello, Sergeant,” Big Foot said, not hiding his surprise at seeing Deputy Delahanty in civilian clothes for the first time. Since becoming a deputy, every few weeks Ro stopped in at Corky’s, a popular country-western bar in the county, always on duty and in uniform, not on an official call but only to say hello.
Tonight, though, she was wearing jeans, a dark T-shirt, an untucked, open front chambray shirt to hide her off-duty Glock 19, and her battered Chicago Cubs running cap. While not really “western,” like the club’s dominant motif, at least they blended better with its casual ambience.
“Hey, Big Foot,” Ro said with a shrug. “Can’t I stop in and buy you a beer for a change?”
She timed her visit, hoping to run into him, knowing he was there most evenings by eleven.
Aaron Small earned the nickname Big Foot because of his size, despite his last name. He and Deputy Delahanty had a unique relationship. One of her first assignments as a rookie Fort Armstrong County deputy a little over four years ago was responding to a 10-10 call – fight in progress – at Corky’s involving Big Foot, until then a not uncommon occurrence. While previous “fights” had usually required three deputies to quell, using basic, non-submission judo techniques, Ro had put both combatants on their butts in a matter of seconds. Rather than resenting being bested by a lone female, Ro had instead earned Big Foot’s respect, and they became friends.
It was his initial tip a year ago about seeing unusual middle-of-the-night activity around the Bi-State Reclamation junkyard that first flagged Ro to the new Pacifica Trading Company operation on the site, both of which she later learned were owned by the Pribyls. Over the months since, inconsistencies increasingly troubled her in what was going on there, and by the tantalizing revelations about the operation Tag Halvorson’s recent research seemed to uncover. Which was the reason she wanted to see Big Foot tonight.
Spotting Ro, Snuffy, Corky’s owner and chief bartender, joined them.
“Good evening, Deputy.” Nodding at her civilian dress, he said, “I gather you are off duty tonight, so what’s your pleasure?” When in uniform, Ro always turned down offers of coffee or even a soft drink.
“Wine, if you have it.”
Snuffy grinned. “Not everyone who comes in here is a Lone Star drinker. I have a Chablis and zinfandel, neither vintage, but they’re both decent.”
“The zinfandel will be fine and bring Big Foot his usual.”
“One zinfandel and one Coor’s Light draft coming up,” Snuffy said.
Ro knew being bought a beer was not much of a treat for Big Foot. As the bar’s unofficial bouncer-peacekeeper, a “job” he’d evolved into since their “fight,” they gave him gratis beers instead of pay.
However, Ro’s gesture did not go unnoticed.
When Snuffy brought their drinks, Big Foot lifted his glass in salute. “Thanks. I sure hope you didn’t come for tonight’s show. Our singer is barely a notch above karaoke.”
“That bad?”
“He tries way too hard to be country,” he said, putting air quotes around “be country.” “If he’d relax and be himself, he might not be half bad.”
“Being yourself is sometimes a tough path to walk,” Ro said.
“Amen,” but then changing the subject, Big Foot added, “If you don’t mind my asking, when’s the last time you ventured into a bar all by your lonesome just to have a drink?”
Ro bobbed her head from side-to-side with a stupid “you got me” grin. “Uh, maybe never.”
“What I thought. So, if you’re not here for a drink or the music…” He left the thought hang.
“I need a favor from you.”
Big Foot shrugged, like such a request was no big deal. “Name it.”
“Well, it’s a bit more complicated. Um, while it’s probably not strictly against the law, it might get me into trouble as a cop.” She was thinking of her recent nasty encounter with a sheriff’s department lieutenant who chewed her out for “playing detective” in another matter. “And likely you for helping me.”
“Mmm, sounds interesting. In my wilder younger days, I was good at finding trouble.”
Ro feigned surprise. “You mean you haven’t always been a big ole walking teddy bear?”
That produced a hardy belly laugh from Big Foot and a chuckle from Snuffy, who was close enough to overhear.