Mountainway Chant

by M J Calabrese

  “Just take this shit and deliver it. Don’t get smart. Remember, your lawyer has a bunch of people who owe him favors. Understand?”

  Rico looked down at the bag before he grabbed the straps and hefted it from the floor. He raised his eyebrows at how heavy it was. He turned and pushed past the bartender as he headed to his car. Rico thought he’d play it smart and take a circuitous route to where he was to drop off the package. He wanted to make certain no one was following him. After a couple of drive-bys at the Recovery Center, he finally made the turn into the parking lot and was surprised to see the truck the old man had described to him sitting near the back of the lot.

  Rico parked in the farthest space under some overhanging trees. It cast the car in shadow and made it difficult for anyone to see who was in the car. He put his ball cap on then he pulled his hoodie over his head. Pulling the hoods laces tight, it made his face less visible and with his sunglasses in place, less recognizable. Rico looked at the bag beside him, then up at the waiting truck. No one got out of it. Just like him, they seemed to be waiting. He glanced down at the bag again. Rico could just make out the oblong shapes pressing against the side of the cloth.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to take a look.” He mumbled to himself.

  He unzipped the bag a few inches and stacks of bills in different denominations came into view. Rico’s eyes widened. Here was the answer to his dreams. All he had to do was take the money and go. So what if the guy at the bar knew his name. There were lots of Rico’s in this town. Rico hesitated. The old man had seen him arrive. When he’d called the guy he made the mistake of giving him his real name. If the old man didn’t get the money, he’d go back to Coulter and then his lawyer would send someone after him. Rico’s breath quickened. His hand moved from the bag to the keys in the ignition and back. He reached down and pulled his handgun from its ankle holster.

  “Why should that old man get the money?” Rico asked the air.

  An imperfect plan began to form in Rico’s mind. It was risky and he’d need to move fast. He’d head straight home after and wake Michael, making sure he’d give him an alibi. If he argued, well, it would be easy enough to take care of him, too. Rico knew what he needed to do. Keeping his head down, he opened the door and stepped out, bag in his left hand and the pistol in his right. He tucked the gun in his pocket as he quickly made his way across the dark lot to the old man’s truck.

  Hal Willowman climbed out of his truck and raised his hand in greeting. Rico moved closer then drew his gun and pointed it at the old man. Seeing what was pointed at him, Hal took a step back. He half turned as if he was trying to get back into his truck. The first bullet hit him in the left side of his chest and knocked him back onto the truck’s tattered and faded red bench seat. Kicking and struggling for air, he tried to move, but the hand holding the gun reached in and the second bullet tore through the old man’s aorta. Blood began to pool in the foot well of the truck as Hal Willowman tumbled from the torn leather bench seat. His body hung there, lodged beneath the steering wheel. Wrapping his sleeve over his hand, Rico grabbed the old man’s foot then shoved it back into the truck. Taking that same covered hand, he hit the lock button and slammed the door closed.

  Keeping his head down, Rico listened for the sound of police sirens. This was not a good neighborhood so it took more than a couple of random gunshots in the middle of the night for someone to call 911. Rico climbed back into the car and headed for home. He’d tell Coulter that he’d given the old man the money. If it seemed like he didn’t believe his story, he’d add a couple of suspicious looking guys hanging out nearby. Besides, he reasoned, Coulter couldn’t complain too much about the money. It’s not as if he could go to the cops about it. Rico laughed to himself. If the cops got him, he’d flip on Coulter and the guy at the bar and they’d watch him walk away tens of thousands of dollars richer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  At five am, the alarm on Adam’s phone went off. He’d already been awake an hour, but he’d laid there in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Exactly twenty-four hours before, his fourth wife, Claire had passed away. His body felt almost too exhausted to move and his mind was numb. Everything he was doing was him on autopilot. He breathed in and out. He put food he no longer cared about into his mouth. He walked from room to room. Drove from one meeting to another, but nothing made any difference anymore.

  He got out of bed and after a quick shower, he dressed and went out to the Jeep. The sun was just beginning to rise and the darkness of night was beginning to fade away allowing the heat of the day to make its presence known. He drove the streets heading for his early morning meeting. Once a week, he came to this AA meeting to be of service and cook breakfast for about forty gay men. When he’d started going to the meeting and its leader had asked him to help cook, he had hesitated, but Glenn assured him, no one would criticize his cooking as long as the eggs were scrambled hard and the toast was light with plenty of coffee for everyone. It took him a couple of tries, but he’d eventually got it right.

  As Adam pulled into the Recovery House’s parking lot, he was surprised to see Hal Willowman’s truck at the back of the lot. Before he could see if the old man was inside, the man who headed the meeting, Glenn Gresham, pulled into the spot next to him and got out.

  “Looks like Hal showed up for the meeting.” He pointed to the rusted old red and white truck.

  Glenn nodded. “He’ll probably come help us when I get the doors open.” The older man frowned. “Did you get mugged or something last night?” He reached out to touch Adam’s swollen jaw, but Adam jerked away.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  His friend nodded. He had the good sense not to ask anything else, well, not yet anyway.

  Glenn unlocked the basement hall and walked back to turn on the lights. Adam turned and headed for the kitchen at the rear of the hall in the dim light. The lights suddenly glared and Adam got busy pulling egg cartons from the refrigerator and loaves of bread from the pantry. Glenn rolled the clean coffee urns over and began to fill them with water and coffee grounds. Both men worked in silence until another of the group joined them and they started to catch up on each other’s lives. The other man went into the hall and began to set up tables and chairs.

  Adam grabbed shredded cheese, salsa and crema to put into bowls for the men to add to their eggs. He quickly cut up fresh fruit and green pepper as well as green onion and jalapenos. Before Adam arrived no one made the effort to make the meal special. Lastly he pulled together the frozen potatoes O’Brien, browning them before sticking the trays of food under the warming lights. Satisfied, he’d done all he could, he looked out into the hall. He frowned as he noted that the person he was looking for wasn’t there.

  Glenn came up to him. “Adam, do you think you could be Greeter this morning? Willy Lopez is in jail again. He went out last night.”

  Adam put down his cup of coffee and headed for the door. He turned, “Glenn, have you seen Hal yet?”

  Glenn shook his head and shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t like your cooking and headed for the twenty-four hour diner down the street?”

  Adam laughed and shot him the bird finger. He went out and stood at the door, greeting and shaking hands, occasionally giving hugs to those who wanted or needed them. All the while he watched Hal’s truck. For some reason, he’d later realize, he knew something was wrong. As the crowd grew, Adam conscripted one of the other members to take his place and he headed over to check out Hal’s truck.

  He walked at a good pace, but he slowed as he got closer. Something on the ground got his attention. Spots of dark fluid were scattered in an all too familiar pattern by the driver’s side door. Suddenly, he changed direction and moved toward the passenger’s side. Pulling the sleeve of his overshirt to cover his right hand, he placed it against the door, leaned forward and peeked in. Adam stumbled back. His head started to spin and he thought he might pass out. He leaned forward to grab his knees as he retched.

  Hal Willowman wa
s on the floorboard of his truck. A sea of coagulating blood partially covered the old man’s face. His eyes open and jaw slack in death. Two obvious bullet holes in his chest were the reason for all of the blood. There was no doubt in Adam’s mind that Hal was dead.

  One of the group members noticed Adam’s distress and was walking toward him. Adam waved him off. Telling him that Hal’s body was in the truck. That he was calling 911 and for the guy to let the others know the cops would be coming. Adam put the phone to his ear. When the dispatcher answered, he told her what he’d found. Moments later, meeting members who didn’t want to talk to the police disappeared. Some of them were on parole and didn’t want to be involved so they scurried away. Sirens in the distance drew closer. Adam, with Glenn’s help, kept curious onlookers from the crime scene.

  The first officers on the scene took over and Adam was glad to let them have it. A young patrol officer which Adam immediately identified as a rookie came to get his statement. He knew all the questions and even gave the inexperienced cop a few more that he should be asking him. The morning was getting really hot now and Adam stood up from the curb he’d been sitting on to remove his long-sleeved shirt. The rookie looked at the cuts and track marks on his arms and shook his head. Adam smirked.

  “You shouldn’t judge, officer. I’m nine months clean.” He paused and looked at the guy.

  “That’s Sergeant Crosby you’re riding with, right?”

  “Yeah.” Lenski glanced over at his partner.

  Adam laughed, “So he didn’t tell you who I was, did he?”

  The younger man frowned, “Were you a cop?”

  Adam sat back down on the curb. He bent his knees, then leaned forward and rested his forehead on his crossed arms braced by his knees. His hair tumbled over and covered his face.

  “Tell him my name. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about me.”

  The rookie turned and went back to this partner. A few minutes later, he heard a loud, deep laugh rumble from the big man’s chest.

  “Fuck you, Coulter.”

  He didn’t bother to reply. He just returned a middle finger salute.

  Chapter Twenty

  Detective Eagle Woodard appeared on the scene more than an hour after it had been called in. He’d been the only homicide detective in the bullpen at the moment Captain Shelby stepped out of his office. He was fighting a bad hangover and his right hand hurt like hell. Shelby shouted Eagle’s name and motioned for him to come into his officer. Eagle grimaced. His boss’ loud voice was punishing. Sunglasses still on, he squinted as he turned away from the morning light. The pain in his back throbbed intensely and was almost worse than his head. He’d swallowed his usual four pain pills that morning and had swigged them down with what was left of a cold cup of coffee. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to be helping either his back or his brain. Eagle stood when called and he followed his Captain into his office.

  “You look like shit, Detective.”

  “Good. Then how I feel and how I look must match up.”

  Shelby sighed and pointed at Eagle’s bruised and torn right knuckles. “Another bar fight?”

  Eagle stood up, ramrod straight and put his hands behind his back assuming the parade rest stance he’d learned in the military. It felt natural and it gave him a sense of comfort for the inevitable dressing down he was about to receive.

  Shelby shook his head. “Eagle, you need to pull yourself back together. This is getting worse. I don’t want to have to suspend you again.”

  “Won’t happen again, Cap.”

  The older man reached down on his desk and handed Woodard a sheet of paper. “Homicide. The Recovery House on Girard Blvd. northeast. Back parking lot. Guy found dead in his truck this morning. He’d been shot at least twice. Get over there now.”

  Eagle took the paper and headed out. It took thirty minutes for him to get the other side of town. He knew the place well. During his short stint as a patrol officer, they’d gotten calls for that place at least ten times a month. He wasn’t surprised there was a body in its parking lot. Eagle pulled in beside one of the patrol cars. He took a moment before digging four more pain pills from his pocket. He lowered his head and quickly popped them into his mouth. He didn’t need the questions if anyone saw him. He didn’t need to justify his need for this medication with anyone. A mouthful of water and they disappeared down his throat. Wiping his mouth, Eagle got out of his truck and walked over to Crosby, the senior officer in charge.

  “Okay, Dick, give me the lowdown on this.”

  Dick Crosby frowned at Woodard, “So they sent you, huh?”

  “Yeah, lucky me.”

  “Okay, I guess Shelby knows what he’s doing, but it’s just a little unorthodox if you ask me.”

  Eagle face hardened at the older cop’s words. He had never liked the man and his poorly concealed homophobia, but he’d taught him what it took to be a good patrol officer.

  “Rookie’s got the information. He interviewed the guy who found the body.” Crosby snickered then turned and shouted, “Lenski!”

  The young cop hurried to his partner’s side. “Sir?”

  Crosby made the introductions. “This is Detective Eagle Woodard, rookie. He’s like a legend around here, right, Woodard?”

  Eagle looked at the younger man and sighed, “You’re partner is an ass, but he’s the best teacher a cop could have. Listen to him and learn. Let’s walk.” The rookie followed close on Eagle’s heels. “Talk.” He commanded.

  “The victim’s name is Hal Willowman. He’s 74 years old. The guy who found the victim says he knows him. Said he’s his ‘sponsor’? Not sure what that means. Looks like he was shot twice, close range. Most of his blood is in the truck. Estimated time of death is sometime between eleven and midnight last night.”

  Eagle lifted the yellow crime scene tape. He moved to the passenger’s side of the truck where there were no evidence markers. A white suited forensics person was leaning in taking samples of the blood on the floor board. The young woman looked up. “Hey, Eagle, fancy meeting you here.”

  “What a way to start the day, huh, Vickie?”

  “Yeah.” She straightened up and pulled her five foot frame to its full height. “Poor man didn’t have a chance, Eagle. Catch this bastard, okay?”

  “I’ll do my best. Can you get a report on my desk today?”

  “Yeah, most of it.”

  “Thanks.” He mumbled as he turned away. He looked down at the rookie. “Where’s the guy who found the body?”

  The younger man nodded his head toward the building. A thin, long haired man sat hunched on the curb of the sidewalk. They headed in his direction.

  “What’s the man’s name?”

  The rookie consulted his notes, “He’s a junkie. Says he’s been nine months clean, but you know how it is with junkies.”

  Eagle could feel his fragile tolerance of the new guy start to fray. “What is his name?”

  “He’s got a lot of track marks. Probably a cutter, too. He’s got tons of scars on his arms.”

  Eagle stopped, striping his sunglasses off, he glared at the officer beside him. “I don’t need your opinions, Lenski. What is the guy’s fucking name?”

  The rookie looked down at his notes again, “Says his name is Dr. Adam Coulter.”

  Eagle closed his eyes and dropped his head to his chest for a moment. “I know him. You can go back to Crosby and tell him he’s an asshole. And Lenski? What Coulter told you is true. He’s not a cutter. He was the chief forensics psychologist with the department. The scars are from an attack he suffered little over a year ago when an undercover operation went south. So stop judging before you know the whole story.”

  A few long steps and he stood in front of his husband. He wasn’t ready for this. The guilt and shame he felt threatened to overwhelm his composure and anger roiled up inside. Eagle looked down at Adam and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, he heard a sob and saw Adam’s shoulders shake. Something inside him broke. He wa
s ready to be angry, but his former lover sat there, helpless and crying. It tore at him. He knew what Adam had been through and this was just one more thing on top of all he had suffered. He glanced around. No one stood nearby. No one seemed to care.

  Eagle turned and sat down beside Adam. Without questioning himself, he wrapped his arms around his husband’s shoulders and pulled him into his embrace. Adam tried to push away, but Eagle just held on tighter. “I’m sorry, Kemo. Sorry for hitting you. I just went crazy and I swear, it will never happen again.” He could feel Adam nod as his fingers grabbed the material over his chest and crumple it in his fist. Eagle sighed. At this moment he felt a thousand years old. He knew he was in the wrong, but this was not the time to talk about it. He had a job to do and Adam would understand that. “So what happened, Adam?”

  “I told the rookie.”

  “Come on, Kemo. You know the drill. Tell me what happened.”

  Once again, Adam pushed away from Eagle’s embrace and Eagle let him go. He kept a hand on his back, listening to Adam’s story. His husband gave details only a forensics specialist would know to add.

  “You might find my fingerprints inside the truck. Last week, Hal gave me a ride to a meeting, but I didn’t touch anything on the driver’s side.”

  “Do you know who might have wanted to kill him?”

  Adam shook his head. “This is all my fault.”

  “How is this your fault?”

  “The day we were at that crime scene on the casino road, I didn’t go straight back to the city. Instead, I went out to see Hal. I needed to talk to him because I was feeling a bit shaky with my sobriety after seeing you.”

  Eagle’s warm hand kept rubbing soothing circles on Adam’s back. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, Kemo.” He chuckled, “Carlos tore me a new one after you left.” He took a deep breath and continued. “No matter what happened between us, I need to man up and face my part in what happened as well as to try to understand what happened to you. Michael said he already knew about you being his biological father. He didn’t tell me because he thought I’d go crazy…, he was right and I’m sorry.” Again, he pulled Adam in for a quick hug. “No matter what. I’m still your friend.” Eagle took Adam’s chin and looked at the swollen cheek and jaw. “But I’m not sure you still want to be mine. Michael found your tooth when he was cleaning up. Do you want it back?”