Dumpster Dying

by Lesley A. Diehl

  There was only one thing wrong with the Biscuit. Although they allowed cigarette smoking after eleven at night when they stopped food service, the bar would not countenance chewing and spitting. At any hour. Toby knew he was a man born too late. If he’d been in central Florida half a century before, he could have run this town and had his own private brass spittoon in every bar in the county. Toby smiled at this thought.

  “Something you want to share with me?” asked the lawyer.

  He took a seat on the stool next to Toby’s and looked around the bar. No one was left in the place except for a couple who sat at a table in the corner. Tourists, thought Palatier, noting the man’s Bermuda shorts and sandals with black socks. The woman wore a sleeveless, backless dress, and it was clear she’d had too much sun by the reddened skin on her arms. They were finishing up a real Florida lunch of blackened gator and sweet potato fries. The waitress brought their check, then hovered over the table signaling them she wanted to be paid so she could get the hell out of here.

  “Nothin’ special,” Palatier heard the man say as he punched the toothpick dispenser and stuck the wooden picker in the side of his mouth. “Tastes like chicken. Not worth the money.” A whoosh of warm air blew through the bar as they opened the door and left.

  Toby raised his hand and caught the attention of the bartender who was caught up in a late afternoon television game show.

  “Watcha having?” asked the bartender.

  Ignatious had worked up a ferocious thirst driving up from West Palm. Must be they put too much salt on my burger, he thought. He almost ordered another Crown Royal, but he remembered he had several late appointments, so he reconsidered.

  “A sweet tea,” he said.

  The bartender turned away to get the drink and rolled his eyes knowing that he wasn’t going to make any money off this guy.

  “You paying?” asked Palatier. Toby nodded. A buck for a sweet tea. That shouldn’t break Toby’s bank.

  “You rousted me out of my office and got me over here. I hope this is worth my time. I’m working on a big case you know,” Toby said.

  Big case, my ass, thought Ignatious. He knew that even though Toby and the captain were boyhood friends, the captain rarely let Toby work anything more important than caballeros off the dairy farms doing weekend shoplifting from the local Mexican flea market. Could be the police station was short-handed, but unlikely.

  “That shooting out at the country club, the other night? That’s my case. I wouldn’t be surprised if the captain turned both the murders over to me also. Lewis isn’t making any headway on those.”

  “Good. Glad you’re doing so well. And what I’d like from you is somewhat related. I need to have someone do some snooping for me.” Ignatious wanted to conduct his business and be on his way.

  “As long as it’s not a conflict of interest. Or illegal,” Toby said.

  Palatier reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet from which he extracted a hundred dollar bill. He shoved it over to Toby, saying, “Let me buy the drinks. You can keep the change.”

  Toby’s sausage-like fingers grabbed the money, and it disappeared below the bar. “I’ll take care of your drink. What can I do for you? Not that a small amount like that will buy you much other than another tea.”

  “I need any smut on the Rhodes woman you can dig up for me.”

  “Smut? What kind of smut?”

  “Shady associates, but especially any lover interests she might have. Men she’s seeing. Like that.”

  “Men? The only man she’s been seeing is Detective Lewis. Oh yeah, she hired Donald Green at the club and went fishing with him. They caught a dead body.”

  Ignatious eyes narrowed when he heard about Lewis. Every time the man testified against one of his clients, Ignatious lost the case. Wouldn’t that be fine, now, if Lewis could be made to look derelict in his duties by hobnobbing with a murder suspect. Even if there was nothing going on, Ignatious could help Thomas make it look bad for Emily and Lewis.

  “Lewis? She’s been seeing Lewis?” he asked.

  “Well, maybe not seeing him per se, but . . .” Toby paused. “Yeah, I guess you could say he’s overstepped his official role.”

  “This could work out fine for you, Toby. Money to do a little spy work and perhaps enough dirt on Lewis to get him bumped back to patrol. I know you dislike the guy as much as I do.”

  “Yeah, he got all uppity on me the other night. Chewed me out. He said I wasn’t doing my job and then he goes and dumps all the paperwork in my lap.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The last thing Palatier needed was to sit here and listen to Toby complain about imagined slights. He didn’t mind hiring the man for any number of jobs where the work was ever so slightly illegal, but he’d be damned if he’d listen to him moan about his life. “So you can add this piece of action to your other off-payroll work. Make yourself some money. Maybe retire early.”

  “Anything I can get you gentlemen?”

  Toby and Ignatious jumped when they heard the voice coming from behind them. Randolph, owner of the Biscuit, stood there with a smile on his face.

  “Eavesdropping on your patron’s conversation?” asked Toby. His voice sounded both defensive and frightened.

  “Certainly not,” said Randolph. His smile never wavered. “I wanted to make certain you were being well taken care of by Justin here.” At the sound of his name the bartender turned his attention from the television and hustled over to the three men.

  “Justin’s been very attentive,” said Palatier. He wanted both men to go away so that he could finalize arrangements with Toby. He was relieved to see Toby looking eager to get to the bottom line also. The mention of money usually speeded negotiations up with him. Toby liked to see the green stuff sooner rather than later.

  “Then we’ll leave you to your conversation,” said Randolph. He hesitated a moment, still standing behind the two men.

  “And, ah, two more of the same,” said Palatier. It was better not to offend Randolph in case he ever got curious about meetings between Toby and Palatier and decided to chat too freely with local authorities about the relationship.

  Justin got the drinks, slapped them onto the bar’s lacquered surface, and waited for his money. Palatier pulled a ten out of his wallet. The bartender returned three dollars and fifty cents in change and returned to his television. Randolph dipped his head goodbye and left, the smile broadening.

  “That guy’s creepy,” said Toby. “I”ll bet you anything he’s queer.”

  If police training included sensitivity seminars, Palatier figured Toby must have called in sick that week. “Nevertheless,” he said, “we have business to finish up here. Say a thousand dollars, five hundred now, the rest when you get me something substantial on the lady. Or the man.”

  Toby grinned his acceptance, and Palatier slipped five hundreds into Toby’s hand.

  Both men chugged the remainder of their drinks. As they got down from their stools to leave, Palatier grabbed the three ones in change on the bar and left the fifty cents.

  What a cheapskate, thought Toby.

  Once on the road, Toby regretted not having used the men’s room at the Biscuit. Too many drinks, too small a capacity. Toby had experienced this problem many times before so he did what he was used to doing. He pulled off the side of the road and relieved himself next to his vehicle.

  Mrs. Wattles and Mrs. Frey, residents of Emily’s condo park saw Toby engaging in his bathroom break at the side of the road and noted the lettering of the city police on the car. They were offended at his ungentlemanly act and felt it their civic duty to report his lewd behavior to his superior.

  Mrs. Frey punched the number of the station into her cell phone, and she got lucky. Any other time of the day and the officer on the switchboard would have answered and jotted down the particulars. Then she would have placed the complaint in Captain Worley’s in-box where the note would be lost among the other notes he’d avoided reading for the past month.
r />   This afternoon the officer was taking her coffee break. The call rang into Worley’s office. He listened to the offended Mrs. Frey, heard the angry Mrs. Wattles’ voice in the background, and assured them he would personally take action.

  As Worley put down the receiver, Toby pulled up outside the captain’s office window. Worley watched him get out of the four-wheel-drive vehicle and walk with a stagger across the parking lot. He tripped on the bottom step leading into the station. Worley’s eyes narrowed. Bad enough the man is utterly incompetent and a slob to boot. But now he’s coming to work drunk. This is too much. Too much.

  By the time Toby tried to pull himself together and started down the hall toward his cubicle, the captain was waiting for him. Toby barely had time to shove three more Tic Tacs into his mouth before the captain beckoned toward his office. All the officers in the main station room saw Captain Worley’s face; his huge mustache quivered, his teeth ground together, and his jaw worked back and forth and up and down. The men and women under his command would have preferred standing on the levee in a Category Four hurricane rather than face the captain when he got himself into this state. He’d make certain watering roadside palmetto wasn’t something Toby would soon repeat.

  At the funeral home, Darren walked to the front of the room and swallowed the lump in his throat. He never thought he’d be addressing a group of people about his family, but it was something he had to do. Clara held her breath, afraid he would reveal family secrets she’d kept for all of Darren’s life. She crossed her fingers and hoped he’d be discrete.

  He worried his quaking legs wouldn’t hold him upright, so he gripped the podium in front of him for support. He began speaking about the man he’d always known as his father, of the times, however few, they’d had together.

  “I remember once he took me to the carnival and we rode the Ferris wheel. I was little, probably not more than five. I got sick and threw up all over myself and my dad’s lap. He didn’t get mad, just took me to the restroom and cleaned me up. He was an even-tempered guy when he was around, and I liked watching television with him. He never hit me. I remember he smiled a lot. We were going to go hunting when he got the time.” Darren paused. “He did the best he could.” Darren shrugged. “I guess that’s all.”

  Clara lifted her chin. No fancy words, no dishonest praise, but bless the kid, he stood up there and paid tribute to Eddie in a way the man would have respected. It struck her that she didn’t know her son well, and she wondered what he would have said about her if she had been the one lying the coffin.

  He walked from behind the podium and sat down in the seat in front of Clara. She leaned forward and clasped his shoulder. He hesitated only a moment, then reached back and took her hand in his.

  After a final prayer, the minister announced refreshments at the Blue Heron Retirement Center’s dining room. There would be no internment. Eddie was to be cremated.

  On the steps outside, Clara held Darren’s arm while people stopped to express their condolences. Darren whispered in his mother’s ear loud enough that Emily heard him, “We need to talk about my real father. I’ll skip the cookies and see you later at home.” By his tone of voice, Emily could tell he was sitting on a tinderbox of anger at his mother.

  “I don’t mean to be snoopy, but, as one of your closest friends and someone who cares for you and Darren, and the person who cared for both of you in my home, I . . .”

  “Okay. You’ve got the right to know, but can this wait until we have some privacy? There’s a long story behind Darren’s birth and . . .” Someone took Clara’s arm and drew her away to a group of people surrounding the minister. Emily stood alone until Hap walked up to her.

  “I guess you’ll finally get the story on Clara’s youthful indiscretion. Like mother, like son, although Clara doesn’t like to admit her son is a chip off the old block.”

  “And who is the “old block” if not Eddie?” asked Emily.

  “That’s Clara’s story to tell, not mine.” Hap sucked on his teeth and chuckled.

  CHAPTER 17

  Darren, Naomi, Clara, Emily, and Hap sat in Clara’s living room following the get-together at the Senior Center. The sun was falling toward the horizon, dusty mists riding its slanted rays as it shone through the window. The room felt hot and stuffy to Clara. She had opened the front door when they entered and now she walked toward the kitchen door and opened it. The cross ventilation produced a gentle breeze, making the sunny particles move about like tiny dancers.

  Darren stood at the window, his back turned toward the others in the room. Everyone’s eyes were on him, and he cleared his throat several times before he found his voice. It shook when he spoke. “Once I got my birth certificate and found out who my father was, I needed some time alone. So I hid out at that old shack at the edge of Rendezvous Swamp.”

  “There are huge gators and all kinds of snakes out there. You might have been attacked or bitten. And besides, what the hell did you need with your birth certificate?” asked Clara.

  “The truth about myself, something you’ve kept from me all these years. The floor is yours, Mom. Let’s hear what you have to say.” Darren’s voice continued to quaver, this time Clara heard anger in it, not nervousness.

  She stopped picking at the couch’s nubby upholstery and looked up at her son. Resistance to telling a secret kept for so long made her throat close up for a moment. Then relief swept over her. She only hoped her son could hear beyond her words.

  “Let me get my story out before you jump on me, Darren. Don’t go off half-cocked because you’re mad I didn’t tell you about this sooner. Okay?”

  “Have at it, Mom. I can’t wait ‘til you explain this one.” Darren dropped into a kitchen chair and glared at his mother.

  Clara took a deep breath and began. “My senior year of high school I had the opportunity to study abroad for a half year. I jumped at the chance. I wanted to be out of this cow town and away from my parents.” She looked at Hap. “Well, away from Mom who was strict with hours and dating.

  “One of the teachers on the trip, Neville Landry, and I got to be friends and, then before long, it was more than a friendship. We slept together on and off through the rest of my senior year.” She paused and, when she continued her tale, she quickened the pace. “After I got out of law school and was in practice on the coast, we ran into each other again and took up where we’d left off. But this time, I got pregnant. By now, Neville had married and had children of his own. There was no chance we could marry.” She finished the story with a dismissive flip of her hand.

  Darren seemed about to interrupt, but Clara shot him a look, and he backed down. His fists clenched and unclenched and a red flush spread from his neck to his jaw.

  She looked at her son with love in her eyes and her voice took on a pleading note. “I know what you’re thinking, sweetie. You think it was some old letch teacher taking advantage of one of his students, but it wasn’t that way at all. I might have been the one who seduced him.”

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

  Clara held up her hand to silence her son. “Let me finish this and then you’ll understand. Neville was a nice man. I took advantage of his attraction to me. I was pretty wild in the days after law school. I liked to bend the rules, a lot. I knew exactly what I was doing.

  “Eddie and I were good friends in high school so when I got back here, he helped me out of my predicament. He married me and tried to be a father to you, Darren. But as you said at the funeral, there were few times you were together. While I balanced motherhood and my law career, he settled into a life of petty thievery. We were too busy doing our own things to be good parents. I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did. What I don’t understand is why you went to the courthouse for a copy of your birth certificate. Or did someone goad you into doing it?”

  Clara watched as her son’s once angry face grew calm. She sensed he had made some kind of decision.

  “I guess my story won’t be
as interesting as yours, but some of the guys at the factory talked about spending spring break in Mexico. I needed my birth certificate to get a passport. That’s all. You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “No one suggested you get the birth certificate?”

  “No. It was my idea. Why?”

  “Nothing. I wondered if any of your friends were curious about your dad. You didn’t tell anyone did you?” Clara’s voice was tinged with suspicion.

  “No one knows about the birth certificate except for all of us in this room. Why so suspicious?”

  “Nothing.” Clara relaxed back into the couch, freeing her injured arm from the sling. “I think I can get rid of this thing in another few days.” Clara fiddled with her sling, then looked up, her eyes moving from one person to the other in the room, daring them to continue with the topic she had decided was ended.

  No one spoke for a moment until Hap arose from his chair. “Well, then, I think we need to mosey along, dear Emily. If you would be so good as to give me a lift to my door.”

  Of all the people in the room, Emily thought she understood Clara’s dilemma best. Unmarried and pregnant. What to do? Emily had considered abortion, yet Clara made no mention of that possibility. Who was this Landry guy? He seemed to have faded from Clara’s life as if he never existed. And why hadn’t Darren expressed an interest in his father’s whereabouts? Perhaps Neville Landry was the one love of Clara’s life, the one man she couldn’t talk about. Somehow Emily doubted that.