by Ron Fisher
The waiter came over and took our orders. Alvin ordered a bowl of vegetable soup and a garden salad. I ordered fish and chips.
“That fried food will kill you,” he said after we ordered.
Health advice from an ex street-gang member whose hands were probably registered as lethal weapons. Could my world get any stranger?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I started out by driving Alvin west into Greenville County. When Wilson Kroll’s mansion loomed into view, I pointed it out to him.
“Jesus,” he said, staring at it.
“It is a little castle-like, isn't it?” I said.
“A little?” he said. “They got one like it at Disney World, only this one’s bigger.”
“My guess is, Kroll is going to throw one of his parties here either tonight, tomorrow, or after the race Saturday,” I said. “He’s already got a couple of hoods visiting, and there will probably be more. I want to see if Teddy Crane is supplying the party favors. We need to tie him and Wilson Kroll together officially.”
“We try to break into that place, we gonna’ need a battering ram,” Alvin said.
“No breaking in,” I said. “We don’t do illegal. We might peek in a window, but we’ll use stealth, not a battering ram.”
Alvin got out his smartphone and took a photo of the place, then worked the keypad, entering something into it.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"Getting a picture and the GPS coordinates from the Maps APP and saving it, so I’ll know where everything is, and how to get back here."
“I’m impressed,” I said.
“With what? That a black street thug like me knows how to do that?” he said.
“I didn’t mean that. I just . . .” I said, and turned to see a wide grin.
“I’m just playing with you, man,” he said, still grinning. “You got to get a sense of humor if we’re going to work together.”
“You realize how much you don’t look like someone with a sense of humor, don’t you?”
“Looks are deceiving. I’ve got a great sense of humor. You know what Martin Luther King would be if he was white?” he asked.
I looked at him a second, then said, “Okay Alvin, what?”
“Alive,” he said and broke himself up. “Sense of humor,” he said. “You ain’t got one, you might as well be dead.” He went solemn again. “But I got a serious side, too,” he added, staring out the window. “I try real hard to keep a lid on that one.”
“Hence the nickname ‘Big Hurt?” I asked.
He gave me a menacing look. “Hence,” he answered.
We drove west to the intersection with Oak Grove Road and did a U-turn, went past Kroll’s castle again, and then back to Landrum, where Alvin picked up his Jaguar. From there he followed me up the route I had decided was Jamal’s way home from the dinner party. The same dog ran out again, first at me, then at Alvin behind me. We crossed back into North Carolina and onto Hunting Country Road.
I’d called Natasha from the car and asked her to show us the way to Teddy Crane’s house. Alvin’s job would be keeping an eye on him, while I watched Wilson Kroll. Hopefully one, or both of them would lead us to something interesting.
Alvin followed me into Natasha’s driveway and we parked in front of her bungalow. He walked up and joined me as I got out of the Jeep. I saw him looking at the big house next door.
“That belongs to her parents,” I said. “Natasha lives in the bungalow here.”
“Some neighborhood,” he said.
He was taking pictures when Natasha came out.
She nodded to me, and turned to Alvin.
“How are you Mr. Brown?” she said with her most charming smile. “I’m happy you’ve agreed to help,” she added.
“Call me Alvin,” he said, looking at her.
I noticed the fearsomeness in his eyes had faded.
“Your parents kick you out? he said, nodding to the big house. “Or did you run away from home? If you did, you didn’t get far.”
Natasha was taken back at first, then laughed. “A little bit of both,” she said.
Alvin laughed, too. We were becoming an odd assortment of friends.
Natasha got into the Jeep with me, and we headed out, Alvin followed. He and Natasha stayed in constant contact on their cell phones as she led us to Teddy’s house on Hog Back Mountain Road. Once there, Alvin would find a hidden spot nearby and stay to spy on him, while I would come back and stake out Castle Kroll.
“I don’t know what you think you’ll catch Teddy doing,” Natasha said to me. “You’ve got the wrong idea about him, you’ll see.”
“Yes we will,” I said. “That’s the whole point of this.”
She just shook her head and looked out the window. We went west out of Tryon, found Hogback Mountain Road, and followed its winding route up the back side of the mountain. At some point, we passed back into South Carolina and into the Dark Corner, then made our way toward the TV tower looming above on the pinnacle of the mountain.
As we neared the top, Natasha announced that Teddy’s place was coming up on the right. It was the rustic mountain cabin Natasha said it was, but bigger than I had envisioned. There was obviously a lot of remodeling done to it over the years, but it was still essentially a log cabin, with a wraparound porch, a second story, native rock front steps, and a stacked-stone chimney at one end. It perched at the edge of a box-car-sized chunk of granite with a cliff’s-eye view of the trees and hills and steep valleys to the north. There was little sign of human habitation in any direction.
Parked out front was the obligatory horse-country Suburban, dark green and several years old, with a few dents and scrapes on it. It looked almost as bad as my old Jeep. A candy-apple-red Harley Davidson chopper sat in an open garage to the side of the house. Natasha said those were Teddy’s only vehicles, so he was probably home.
Natasha and I both scrunched down in our seats and looked away as we drove by the house. Teddy didn’t know Alvin, so there was no reason to have him do it. In my rear-view window, I saw him taking pictures again. Natasha spoke to him on the phone and told him we’d go past the house a short distance and turn around. That way, if Teddy saw us go up, he would see us go back down again, and hopefully, take us as rubbernecking tourists out for a drive.
“I feel horrible about this,” Natasha said. “I’m betraying Teddy. A friend wouldn’t help you spy on him.”
“I’ll never tell him you helped.”
We turned around and Alvin took the lead. After we passed Teddy’s house again, he found a narrow dirt road leading off into the trees, stopped and backed up it far enough to hide the Jag from the road.
I drove past him and took the phone from Natasha. Alvin was still on the open line.
“You all set?” I asked.
“Who is this guy, Grizzly fuckin’ Adams?” Alvin said. “We in the fucking wilderness here. I was hoping we’d be closer to civilization. I’m going to need some food.”
“We’ll bring you something,” I said. “What do you want?”
“Sushi would be great, but my guess is the only thing they do with raw fish around here is roll it in cornmeal and deep fry it.”
“Sushi?” I said to Natasha. “Alvin’s getting hungry.”
“There’s a place about fifteen minutes east of Tryon just past Columbus in Mill Spring,” she said. “It’s pretty good.”
“Surprise,” I said. “We got your sushi. It’s not far.”
“Do I need to be worried about food poisoning?” he said.
“Natasha said it was actually a good place.”
“Then get me an assortment of nigiri and a couple of bottles of water. And tell her my life be in her hands. I’ll stock up for tomorrow when I leave tonight—after our boy turns in.”
“Take me home,” Natasha said, “and I’ll go get it for him. You can then go see what Wilson Kroll is up to.”
“Natasha will bring your food,” I said to Alvin.
“For a rich white girl, she’s alright,” Alvin said. “Underneath the thousand-dollar-an-ounce perfume and silk blouses and shit, she’s more like us than she realizes. She’s a hunter, not a gatherer.”
“Is that what you think we are?” I said. “Hunters? I’m not sure I see it that way.”
“Skin color and upbringing aside, Bragg, I think you and me are much the same. We both got predatory demons inside us we turn loose on the unrighteous like the avenging hand of God. I’ve seen it in you. We don’t rest until we track them down and bring justice to their sorry asses. You’re afraid to admit it because you want to be socially acceptable. That’s one place we differ. I don’t give a damn.”
“Jesus Christ, that got deep all of a sudden,” I said, but I couldn’t help thinking there was some truth in there somewhere.
It was almost dark when I got to Wilson Kroll’s Castle, and I arrived just in time to see a small car with a lighted pizza sign on top go through the gate. I pulled over by the fence, doused my headlights and took my old pair of Weiss binoculars from the glove compartment. A Ford sedan with Ohio license plates sat in the circular drive in front of the house—probably belonging to Kroll’s two buddies from the USEC party. The pizza driver parked beside it and got out of the car bearing a couple of pizza boxes, walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
Mrs. Kroll came to the door wearing a gray sweatshirt, and matching sweatpants. Lounging-around-the-house wear, I guessed. She paid the delivery guy and took the pizzas. I watched until the door shut behind her and the delivery man left.
I called Alvin and told him it looked like Kroll and company were in for the night, with no plans to party, and if so, I would most likely cash in early.
“I probably won’t be here much longer, either,” Alvin said. “I walked up and looked into Teddy’s window. He was on the couch in gym shorts and a t-shirt nodding off to an old black and white movie on TV. Leftovers of a TV dinner and a couple of empty beer bottles were on the coffee table in front of him. When he turns in, I’m going into Tryon and get me a motel room. I don’t want my coming and going at all hours to bother aunt Millie. She needs her rest, and I doubt we wrap things up this early the next couple of nights.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “I’ll be terribly disappointed if we don’t catch Teddy and Wilson Kroll in some nefarious activity together.”
“Nefarious activity, Alvin said and chuckled. “Running around with you is bound to improve my vocabulary,” he added, and chuckled again.
“Are you making fun of me?” I asked.
“Just ain’t used to hanging with such erudite white folks.”
“Erudite?” I said. “Who’s putting on whom here?”
“Whom indeed,” Alvin said, chuckled again and hung up.
The guy still scared the shit out of me, but I was beginning to like him. I sat and watched Kroll’s castle for a while longer, long enough to convince myself they were indeed staying in tonight. I called Natasha. She said she was a half-mile from Alvin with his sushi delivery.
I told her what Alvin had just said about Teddy, and that Kroll seemed to be having a quiet night at home, too, with the little lady and his wise-guy friends.
“How about you meet me for a bite to eat somewhere after you drop off Alvin’s sushi?” I said. “I’m getting a little peckish myself. Pizza, maybe. For some reason, I’ve got a craving for a slice or two.”
“Side Street Pizza on South Trade Street in Tryon,” she said. “They have pasta, too, and serve beer and cocktails. How does that sound?”
“Then that’s the place,” I said. “I’ll meet you there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The façade of Side Street Pizza looked like an old farmhouse, with a cozy little front porch, but I couldn’t tell if it was authentically old, or just made to look that way. I went inside and found Natasha already sitting at a booth just inside the door. From the size of the crowd the food was probably good.
I joined her, and she handed me a menu.
“So, no wild party tonight at Kroll’s Castle,” she said.
“And your boy Teddy is in for the night.”
“Tomorrow night would be my guess for Kroll to throw one of his parties,” Natasha said. “It could be after the race Saturday, I suppose, that’s the big party night. There will be after-race parties going on everywhere, with lots of people out and about, party-hopping from one to the other. But after-race celebrations are traditionally open to everyone, and I would think that after a day of drinking, some bold party-goer might see all the lights on at Kroll’s house and the cars out front, and decide to party-crash to check out the Kroll castle. Kroll would probably want to avoid that and keep his party off anyone’s radar. Tomorrow night would do that.”
“We’ll see,” I said. I must have been wearing a hangdog look, because I caught Natasha studying me.
“You’ve got something on your mind?” she said. “What is it?”
“I was just thinking how much Kelly would enjoy the race this weekend.”
“Then have her come over.”
“Not unless we drop this boyfriend-girlfriend charade we’ve been carrying on. It’s accomplished what it was meant to accomplish anyway. And what would Kelly do? Go as Alvin’s date to keep up the ruse? Nothing against Alvin, but I don’t see the need for that—and if she looks unattached, Teddy would end up hitting on her, and I’d have to punch him out.”
“As Alvin’s date, nobody would hit on her,” she said laughing.
“Alvin wouldn’t just punch him out,” I said, “he’d kill him. This charade is getting too complicated. It’s time to end it.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” She said and faked a pouty face. “You’re such a party pooper,” she added, sighed dramatically, and began studying the menu.
“I was thinking,” she said after a moment. “If Wilson Kroll is going to throw one of his infamous parties, he wouldn’t invite his wife, unless they’re even kinkier than I think they are. If she goes away somewhere tomorrow, it will be a good sign something is up.”
“I agree,” I said. “I’ll stake out the place earlier than I’d planned, and watch for that.”
“Not without me, you won’t,” she said. “I’m having fun.”
“Fun? Have you ever been on a stakeout? We’ll just be watching Kroll’s place, hour after hour, all day long. It’ll bore you to death.”
“I’ll bring a book. But you’re not keeping me away.”
“What if I gave you something else to do?”
She shot me a suspicious look.
“Like what?”
“Go to Mrs. Johnson’s house and search for Jamal’s journal. Get her to help you. Go through everything. Check for loose floorboards or baseboards. Look in the attic. Underneath the house. She’d likely feel more comfortable letting you pry through their stuff than me.”
She sat and thought about it for a minute.
“I can do that,” she said. “If you promise to call me if anything exciting happens.”
“Deal,” I said, reluctantly.
She leaned over the table toward me, looking over my shoulder and said, “Doctor Whitmore, my vet, and his wife are sitting in the back.”
I turned to see a distinguished looking gentleman with gray hair and a woman who looked enough like him to be his sister, rather than his wife.
“If you want to talk to him, you’d better hurry,” Natasha said, “It looks like they’re leaving.”
She was right; the waitress was handing the Doctor the check as we spoke.
I got up from our table and made my way back to theirs.
“Dr. Whitmore?” I said, “I’m J.D. Bragg, and I wanted to thank you for your help at the race track last night.”
He looked up at me with surprise. His eyes went from my face to the stitches in my head, which I’d tried to hide with an unsuccessful comb-over.
“My goodness, young man, I didn’t expect to see you up and around today, I’m glad y
ou are, but maybe you shouldn’t be. A horse’s hoof is a whole lot harder than your noggin, and you took quite a knock.”
The fact that it wasn’t a horse’s hoof was a whole other conversation I didn’t need to have with him right now.
“I see you’re about to leave, but I wonder if I could impose on you for a couple of minutes before you go. I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”
Natasha appeared at my side and greeted them both. “Dr. Whitmore, I apologize for this intrusion, but J.D.’s writing a story on our steeplechase week, and I’ve promised him you would talk to him. He was looking for you at the track when he was hurt.”
The Doctor and his wife both were looking at us with puzzled expressions.
“It would probably be a lot quieter outside,” Natasha added. “I’ll keep Margaret company while you’re gone, if she doesn’t mind staying a little longer.”
“Well, I’m not sure what I can add to your story, but I’d be happy to try,” Dr. Whitmore said and stood, pulling a pipe and a pouch of tobacco from his coat pocket.
“Margaret won’t let me smoke in the car, so I’ll take this opportunity to have my after-dinner pipe outside.”
I followed him out the front entrance to the sidewalk and waited until he packed his pipe and lit it.
“I wanted to talk to you about Wilson Kroll’s champion stud-horse, Emperor. The one that was shot,” I said.
He looked surprised. “I’m not sure that I can tell you anything about that. Perhaps you should talk to Mr. Kroll or his vet.”
“I don’t think I can get the answers I want from them,” I said. “You may know Kroll claims a kid named Jamal Johnson killed the horse because of a grudge the boy held against him. I don’t believe that.”
“All I know is what I read in the papers,” Whitmore said.
“You’ve been a vet around here for years, Dr. Whitmore, and I’d bet you hear things, even about horses you don’t treat. I think Kroll’s horse was infertile, and he had it shot before anyone found out, and framed the kid to collect the insurance. I also believe Kroll has been fraudulently selling another horse’s sperm and passing it off as Emperor’s. If you know anything about that, please tell me. I won’t say where I got it.”
