Free Spencerville by Nelson DeMille

is me. You want me?"
    "You tryin' to bribe me with sex?"
    She nodded.
    "Well, let's see what you got for collateral before I decide. Take 'em off."
    She unfastened her robe and let it fall, then pulled the T-shirt over her head and dropped it on an armchair. She stood in the middle of the living room, naked, while Chief Baxter circled around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bulge in his pants.
    "Okay, Miss Kolarik, you got real good collateral for a loan. Kneel right there. Park 'n' Eat, sweetheart."
    She knelt on the rug.
    He unbuckled his gun belt and put it on the armchair, then undid his belt and zipper and lowered his pants and undershorts. "Go for it, darlin'."
    She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and with one finger lowered his erect penis to her lips.
    When it was over, Cliff said, "Swallow it." He pulled up his clothes, buckled on his holster, and threw a twenty on the armchair. "I'll take care of the tickets, but you owe me four payments."
    Sherry nodded and mumbled, "Thank you." He'd said that the first time, and, for the last ten times, it had always been four more.
    Cliff, not particularly sensitive, nevertheless saw she was a little upset and patted her cheek. "Hey, I'll see you later for coffee. Got to go..."
    He left through the back door.
    She stood, went into the kitchen, spit in the sink and washed out her mouth, then ran into the shower.
    * * *
    Cliff Baxter drove around Spencerville, feeling very good. He had, at the moment, two women, which was enough for one time: Sherry, mostly for oral sex, and a separated woman with kids, named Jackie, trying to live on what her husband sent her from Toledo. Jackie had a nice bedroom and a good bed, and she was a good lay. Cliff always brought groceries, compliments of the local supermarket. He had a third woman, he realized, his wife. He laughed. "You are all man, Cliff Baxter."
    The mobile phone rang, and he picked it up. Sergeant Blake said, "Chief, I had Ward drive by Landry's place with binoculars, and he got the license number."
    "Okay."
    "So I called these clowns back in D.C., and I gave it to them."
    "Good. What we got?"
    "Well... they said this plate was some kind of special thing, and if we needed to know more, we got to fill out a form, tellin' why and what it's about..."
    "What the hell are you talkin' about?"
    "They faxed me this form — two pages."
    "What kinda shit is that? You call those sons-of-bitches and tell them we need a make on this plate now. Tell 'em the guy was DUI or somethin', can't produce a registration or nothin'..."
    "Chief, I'm tellin' ya, I tried everything. They're tellin' me it's somethin' to do with national security."
    "National... what?"
    "You know, like secret stuff."
    Cliff Baxter drove in silence. One minute he's on top of the world, pipes cleaned, feeling good, and in charge. Now this guy Landry shows up from outside, from Washington, D.C., after how many years?.. Twenty-five maybe, and Cliff doesn't know a thing about him, and just finds out he can't even get a make on his car registration or driver's license. "Who the fuck is this guy?"
    "Chief?"
    "Okay, I want this bastard watched. I want somebody to swing by his place a couple times a day, and I want to know every time he comes to town."
    "Okay... what are we lookin' for? I mean, why?.."
    "Just do what the hell I tell you."
    "Yes, sir."
    Cliff hung up. "The man fucked my wife, that's why." And people in town knew, or they'd remember, or they'd hear about it soon enough. "I can't have that. No, siree, I cannot have that."
    Several plans of action began to form in his mind, and he remembered something old Judge Thornsby once said to him... "Sometimes a problem is an opportunity in disguise."
    "That's it. This stupid bastard came right onto my turf. And what I couldn't do twenty-five years ago, I can do now. I'm gonna kill him... no, I'm gonna cut off his balls. That's it. Gonna cut off his balls and put 'em in a jar on the mantel, and Annie can dust it