Cozy Up to Death

by Colin Conway

  Suicide Mike turned his attention toward The Red Herring, which caused Brody to jump away from the window. He heard his old bike rev several times.

  When he peeked out again, Mike was rolling down Main Street. The rider pointed to the left and turned onto Second Avenue, where Il Cuoco Irato was. One thought came to Brody immediately.

  Suicide Mike is meeting with Frankie the Dove.

  Brody burst through the front door and ran down Main Street. Several people on the sidewalk hurried out of his way. In front of Pleasant Valley Sundae, though, a group of children wandered out from the store. To avoid them, the big man hopped into the street without looking.

  A passing Audi angrily honked its horn right before it hit him.

  His feet left the ground, and he went spiraling to the pavement.

  He rolled several times before coming to a stop. He stood as fast as he could, desperately trying to get his bearings. Woozy from the collision, he stepped back onto the sidewalk. The driver, a middle-aged woman, stared at him with horror, her hands covering her mouth.

  Brody waved apologetically to her and was about to turn and run when the children surrounded him, full of questions.

  A kid with a flattop haircut tugged on his khakis. “Did you break your noggin?”

  “You got hit by a car, mister,” a second kid said, stating the obvious.

  Another roar came from up the street. Brody’s head whipped in that direction, causing his world to tilt suddenly. To stabilize himself, he reached out and put his hand on the head of Captain Obvious.

  “Are you going to fall down, mister?” a little girl with pigtails asked. She held a melting ice cream cone in her hand.

  “Are you going to barf?” the kid under Brody’s hand asked.

  Two motorcycles, their engines loudly growling, slowly made their way along Main Street.

  The kid with the flattop tugged on Brody’s pants and said, “You should call your mom.”

  Brody looked down to see chocolate ice cream smeared on his khakis.

  The two bikes continued to crawl toward him. He couldn’t go back toward his store because he would come face-to-face with the riders. If he ran down Main Street, they would see him running.

  He had only one choice.

  Brody let go of the kid’s head and stepped inside the ice cream shop.

  The noise was unbearable as the children screamed and laughed. From a set of speakers hanging in the corner of the store, 1950s Rockabilly music played cheerfully loud.

  A single father was leaned over, his head in one hand while the other fiddled with his cell phone. Several hapless mothers looked his way. Brody couldn’t tell if the women were silently begging him for help or if they wanted him to take their children away. Either way, he wasn’t their man.

  A kid ran by him, dragging a sticky hand across the knee of his khakis, leaving a mark of melted green ice cream. The kid giggled and ran away.

  The big man stepped further into the store.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the teenager behind the counter asked.

  Brody eyed her for a moment before looking at the ice cream in the chilled counter. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Take your time.”

  Two kids ran by him this time, each smacking their hands onto his pants. A couple of mothers yelled, “Hey!” at them, but neither moved to corral the vermin they had birthed. Brody scowled at the women. Both apologetically shrugged as if there was nothing they could do.

  He turned to the window as two riders he recognized passed by. The red-haired man was nicknamed Chester after the Cheetos mascot, and the balding man with the long hair was called Skullet. They both rode Sportsters and wore the leather vests known as cuts. Neither had a Satan’s Dawgs patch on the back.

  In club vernacular, they were pups—club prospects, not full members. Brody knew their purpose for being in town. They were additional muscle for Suicide Mike.

  The group of laughing and screaming kids circling him had grown, each smacking his khaki pants.

  Now, four parents were yelling various forms of “Stop it!” to children with names like Aidan, Isabella, Kaylee, and Landon. Again, the adults all remained in their seats, not moving to aid Brody with their hellspawn.

  He growled at the children. They paused momentarily, their eyes wide with fear. That made him happy. Finally, someone had shown the children what real authority and respect was.

  Then one of the kids squealed with delight, and the game of smearing his pants with ice cream began again.

  Several of the parents yelled, “No!” in unison.

  Brody grunted something that was the closest thing to an expletive he would allow and headed for the door.

  “I guess you don’t want any ice cream,” the teenager said from behind the counter. “Whatever.”

  Chapter 32

  The ringing of the bell annoyed him as he re-entered the store.

  I need to remove that stupid thing, he thought angrily.

  Then she popped out from the Cozy aisle, and the ringing of the bell no longer bothered him.

  “You’re back!” Daphne Winterbourne said. She held a paperback in her hand. “I was wondering where you were.” Her words trailed off as she saw the ice cream smears around his khaki pants. “What happened to you?” she asked with a cringe.

  “The ice cream store threw up on me.”

  She scrunched her nose.

  “What are you doing here?” Brody asked.

  “What do you think?” she said, holding up a paperback copy of Jim Thompson’s The Grifters. “Besides, I wanted to say how much fun I had last night. I hope we can do it again.”

  For the briefest of seconds, the big man let himself think about their dinner together.

  “Would you like to come over tonight? Nothing fancy, but after we eat, maybe we could go for a walk.”

  “I’d love to,” Brody said as he stepped toward the window. He could see the two prospects now heading up the street toward the bookstore. As they walked, people moved away from them. No one appeared to be smiling at the men. “But we need to go.”

  “What do you mean?

  “Now!” Brody yelled, grabbing her by the hand.

  “Where are we going? I only have a few minutes for my break.”

  He hurried toward the back of the store, pulling Daphne behind him.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “We can’t stay here.”

  “I don’t understand. Tell me what’s happening.”

  Once they were in the alley, he held her hands. “Go back to the grocery store. I’ll come get you in a bit and explain everything.”

  She stared at him, confused.

  He kissed her on the forehead. “Please, Daphne.”

  “Tell me what’s going on, Brody.”

  “I can’t. Not right now. You need to go. Now! Please, trust me.”

  She stepped out of the alley and began the walk back to The Pleasant Peasant.

  Brody trailed behind, his eyes warily watching the two thugs who had crossed the street as they moved toward his store. Several times he caught Daphne looking back at him. Each time, he shooed her on. He couldn’t do what was needed with her around.

  When she was out of sight, he trotted up the block to Main Street and saw them entering his store. Brody confidently walked toward The Red Herring, pushed the door slightly open, and grabbed the brass bell before it could ring.

  “He’s not here,” Chester muttered.

  Skullet turned to see Brody holding the brass bell.

  “Hey, fellas,” he said, closing the door and locking it. He flipped the Open sign to Closed.

  Chester turned to his partner with wide eyes. “It’s him.”

  Skullet nodded knowingly. It was clear who was the brains of the team. They both slowly turned to the big man.

  “You boys looking to earn your patches?”

  Skullet’s lip curled. “If we bring you in, we’re sure to get ou
r colors.”

  “Then get to earning,” Brody said. He grabbed a book from the Carrie Fenton display and threw it at Chester, causing the man to duck.

  The balding prospect removed a knife from his belt and flicked it open. He sliced the air toward the big man, missing him. Skullet took two small hops toward Brody, stabbing the air each time like a sword fighter in a swashbuckler movie.

  Brody grabbed the entire Carrie Fenton cardboard display and repeatedly hit his opponent with it, swinging it back and forth, sending books flying about the store. It wasn’t meant to cause pain but merely be a nuisance or distraction while Brody figured out his next move. The bottom of the display caught the end of the knife. It clattered to the hardwood floor.

  He threw the cardboard display after the weapon. The prospect’s eyes darted around the shop looking for his blade.

  Chester took that as his opportunity to attack Brody, but he was a clumsy fighter. His punches were roundhouses, like the type seen in bad B movies. Brody’s jabs, however, snapped with ferocity. He wasn’t just angry—he was focused on defending his new life, Daphne, even the darn cat. No lousy prospects were going to take this away from him.

  His punches hit the red-haired man in the face, once, then twice, exploding his nose. Blood cascaded down over his lips and chin. Chester covered his face with his hands.

  Skullet found his knife and returned to the fight, poking at the bigger man and working to find his range.

  Brody knew he had to do something fast. He’d already pressed his luck for too long. Fighting a man with a blade was a losing proposition. He grabbed the nearest hardback book from a shelf. As Skullet reached out, Brody smacked the prospect’s wrist with the book’s spine.

  The balding man yelped and yanked his hand back.

  Brody stepped forward, but the prospect lashed out again with his knife. He winced in pain as he did so. The two men stared at each other for a moment, and then Skullet worked up the courage to stab again. Brody smacked him once more on the wrist with the spine of the hardback book.

  The blade clattered to the floor amid another cry of pain from the prospect.

  Brody didn’t waste time. He moved forward, striking Skullet alongside the head with the flat of the hardback book. He reversed the strike and hit him on the opposite side of the face. When Skullet collapsed to the floor on his back, Brody straddled him and struck him twice with the spine of the book, driving it down like a guillotine.

  He was about to hit him a third time when it occurred to him that he didn’t have to kill the man. In fact, he didn’t want to kill him. His new life in Pleasant Valley had put a lot of odd thoughts into his head, and not killing an adversary was about the strangest.

  Skullet struggled to breathe, but the man was alive. He was a bloody mess, but he was still among the living.

  Brody relaxed and lowered his hands. He took a moment to read the title of the blood-spattered book he held. It was Murder, She Wrote: Murder in Red by Jessica Fletcher and Jon Land.

  Something dragged against the wood floor, and Brody quickly glanced back to see Chester picking up the knife. The other prospect stepped toward him, slashing the blade awkwardly in the air as he moved. It was clear the man had not fought with a knife before.

  Brody rolled off the unconscious man, jumped up, and stood at the ready. Blood dripped from the book in his hand.

  The biker lifted the knife above his head and yelled a guttural sound that made little sense. His hand came down with speed and fury, like every villain in a slasher film. It was an inept attack and one that Brody avoided. He redirected Chester’s hand back into the man’s thigh. The biker squeaked once in pain and stumbled awkwardly away.

  Both men stared at the knife protruding from Chester’s leg. Blood slowly spread out from the wound.

  “Looks like that hurts,” Brody said.

  “I should go to a hospital,” the prospect muttered.

  He shrugged. “You’re probably fine.”

  Then Brody thrashed Chester about the head and shoulders with the spine of the hardback book, spraying drops of blood throughout The Red Herring, Pleasant Valley’s only shop catering to tales of crime and mystery.

  Chapter 33

  It was a hasty job of cleaning up the store.

  One at a time, he carried both unconscious men into the basement and locked the door from the outside. Not killing the two prospects felt like he made a positive change in his life, but it did create a set of problems.

  What should he do with them now?

  How long would they remain unconscious?

  Chester had a severe wound that didn’t appear life-threatening, but Brody wasn’t a doctor.

  If he did nothing and the prospect died from his wound, was he responsible?

  Should I call for help? he wondered.

  The questions plagued Brody as he ran up to his apartment. He hurriedly changed his shirt and pants as they were covered with both blood and ice cream. In new attire, he returned to the bookstore.

  He was about to formulate a plan of action when he saw the older man outside the store. With hands around his eyes, Herbert Paxton pressed his face against the window of the front door. When he saw the big man inside, he knocked several times.

  “I’m closed,” Brody yelled.

  The older man pounded once again.

  “Closed!” Brody hollered and waved him on.

  Herb frowned and changed his tactic. He tapped his knuckles against the door in a steady rhythm that quickly became annoying.

  “Persistent old coot,” Brody muttered and hurried to the door. He unlocked it and pulled it open.

  “What are you doing?” Herb asked.

  “Nothing,” Brody said. Quickly realizing that it was an inadequate response, he followed it up with, “Getting ready to get some lunch.”

  “You’re not going to sell many books if you close down in the middle of the day.”

  “I’m doing fine as it is.”

  Herb’s eyes scanned the store. “Geez Louise, what happened in here?”

  “The cat’s helping me remodel.”

  The older man pushed past Brody. His eyes first went to the destroyed cardboard display, then the tipped-over book spinner.

  “Bulldog did all this?”

  “Bulldog?”

  “Bulldog Drummond. My name for the cat.”

  Herb bent down and touched his fingers to the hardwood floor. When he lifted them, he rubbed them together. “That’s blood, boy.”

  “It is?” Brody asked.

  “You sure Bulldog is, okay?”

  “He’s fine. That was from me. I got a bloody nose from the cat.”

  “The cat gave you a bloody nose?”

  “He bonked me.”

  Herb studied Brody’s face. “There’s blood all ovah your head and neck, boy.”

  Brody swallowed. He hadn’t bothered to check himself in a mirror while in his apartment.

  The older man’s eyes narrowed as he continued to examine Brody’s nose. “Must have been a heck of a bleedah.”

  “He was.”

  “What?”

  “It was. My nose, I mean.”

  “Where’s the cat?” Herb slowly asked. “Hey, Bulldog, where you at?”

  The older man walked into the middle of the store. He placed his hands on his hips. “I like that cat. You better hope nothing has happened to him.”

  “Him? I’m the one with the bloody nose.”

  “You probably deserved it,” the old man said with a decisive nod.

  Travis wandered out then, looked up at Herb, and sat. The old man said, “That’s what I like about cats. They only need to see you. Don’t need a whole lot of love beyond that.”

  “Was there something you wanted, Herb? I’ve really got to get going.”

  “Geez, some people have got no patience. I was coming by to tell you something about Alice, but if you ain’t got time to hear it...”

  Brody held up his hands. “What is it?”

&nb
sp; “Remember I said there was something she was working on with that writah girl?”

  “Yeah,” Brody said. “I already talked with her.”

  “Carrie told you about their story?”

  Brody was surprised that Herb would know about Carrie writing Alice’s biography. That would reveal too much about Alice’s life as Evelyn Spier and would jeopardize her position in the Witness Protection Program. He thought she would have been more careful in her life.

  “She told me she was writing a book,” Brody said. “She didn’t say what it was about.”

  “See, Navy boy,” the old man said, smiling. “I know something you don’t.”

  “Herb, just tell me what you know so you can leave me in peace.”

  “They were working on a heist story, wiseacre.”

  “A heist?”

  “You know, a robbery.”

  “I know what a heist is.”

  “It was pretty exciting how Alice and Carrie laid it out.”

  “Why would they tell you?”

  “The two of them needed my advice.”

  “Your advice?”

  “Ayuh, I used to be a city plannah for a lot of years. I know the ins and outs of all the buildings in Pleasant Valley.”

  “Were they asking you about a specific building?”

  “That’s right. They were asking about the building where the little Italian restaurant is now. Had a whole story planned for it.”

  Brody shook his head then. He knew what the two women had been doing and suddenly believed Alice Walker was very much alive.

  Chapter 34

  Brody quickly walked down Main Street toward The Pleasant Peasant. Several people smiled and nodded at him as he hurried. He did his best to be polite, but he was in a rush, and his head swiveled back and forth, searching for Suicide Mike Eslick or Frankie the Dove.

  After finishing his conversation with Herb, he washed his face in the bookstore’s restroom. Then he left voicemails for both U.S. Marshal Ted Onderdonk and FBI Special Agent Max Ekleberry. Brody wasn’t sure what he would tell the men when he talked with them, but he realized he needed their help.