Texas Troubles

by N. C. Lewis

  The barista smiled a big, broad, happy grin as his chin twitched. This was the nugget of news the barista desired. After a nod of appreciation, he disappeared into the storeroom.

  A table by the window served as a makeshift office. A quick sip of the steaming beverage then I cracked open the laptop and began answering emails, making notes and reading the newspaper all at the same time. The gentle ringing of the doorbell as customers came and went soothed and massaged my thoughts. On occasion, I’d look up, surprised to recognize local characters. Don Andrews from the pizza parlor ordered a tray of pastries. Roger Romantic from the speaker's circle waved as he sipped an afternoon cappuccino. Marge and Ethel from the dojo each purchased several boxes of specialty teas. Even Mr. Burlington from Gregg’s showed up for an afternoon beverage.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  When Kidd Cole entered the café, I was staring at the laptop screen. A clatter of cups in the bar area made me look up, and there Kidd stood, by the bar, head down, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his blue jeans.

  Kidd slouched over to the counter, his appearance and demeanor unsettling. Was this the same person who taught the class at the dojo the other night?

  “Hey, Kidd, over here.” I waved him over to the table, folded the newspaper and prepared to listen.

  Kidd scurried across the café, sat down and picked uneasily at the tablecloth. “Hope to see you in training later this week,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, looking forward to the class, or at least the pizza afterward.”

  Kidd laughed. “Want to get in shape?”

  “Absolutely, yes.”

  “Then only one slice of Don Andrews good stuff. Anyway, a few members from the dojo are getting together to run the Dry Creek mile. All ages, shapes and sizes. Want to come along?”

  “Oh thanks!”

  Kidd looked out the window. “Can’t say I like the way things are going at the dojo right now. Something’s not quite right with Ma, the lady seems very distracted these days.”

  “How so?”

  The young man’s mouth pinched, then he let out a deep sigh. “Don’t know, since Tanner passed away Ma has spent less time teaching classes. She met with a lawyer yesterday, not sure what that’s about, though. Anyway, Ma’s been acting strange recently, things just aren’t the same. I suppose you’ve heard the news? About the dojo?”

  “No, what’s going on?” I tried to sound cheerful, but failed.

  Kidd’s lips trembled. “Well, I’m not supposed to say, but everyone knows, guess there will be an announcement at some point. Anyway, you may as well get the lowdown now.”

  I leaned in and nodded, sympathetic concern etched into my face.

  Kidd hesitated, the corners of his mouth pinched again. “Ma’s selling the dojo. To...to Tony Dean the owner of the Whirlwind Martial Arts School!”

  “Surely not! Are you sure?” Disappointment seeped into my voice.

  Kidd let out a wail, his hands flew up to his face and within seconds his whole body shook with deep regretful sobs. “Tanner would never agree to this,” he cried, “he hated Tony and his flashy tacky school. He told me himself the day he...”

  I raised my eyebrows, echoed Kidd’s last few words to encourage their completion. “The day Tanner told you...” It did not work, instead his eyes became glassy, tears forming in the corners.

  I opened the newspaper and spread it across the table. The headline written by Millie read “No Progress in Martial Arts' Owner Killing.” The way things are going, I thought to myself, that would be the headline tomorrow as well.

  “Kidd,” I asked, “do you know who killed Tanner?”

  He shook his head. “No, no idea.”

  “Did Tanner have any enemies here in town?”

  Kidd rubbed bloodshot eyes. “No, well...Tanner and Ma argued a lot. On paper, the two were equal business partners, but Tanner was the numbers person. He ran the business side. Ma focused on training the kids and growing enrollment. That arrangement worked really well, but lately the arguments seemed to grow.”

  Kidd paused, forming the words in his mind before they tumbled in a rapid jumble out of his mouth. “During the past few weeks, lots of nasty fights, almost daily. The two were squabbling the day before...”

  “Tanner died?” I asked.

  “Yes, Ma even threated Tanner with her Japanese Tessen war fan. The woman is an expert with that weapon.”

  “Anyone else witness this threat?”

  Kidd’s brow wrinkled, after a short pause he spoke. “Let me think, that was the night of the quarterly business meeting. Who was in the place...yep, a whole bunch of folk were at the dojo that night. Everyone associated with the business including senior students who teach. At a minimum, eight people, possibly more.”

  “Did you tell the sheriff about this?”

  “No, Sheriff Hays never asked. Now Deputy Muller’s in charge of the investigation, remains doubtful they will even ask for a statement. Anyway, I love Ma and so did Tanner.”

  The barista emerged from the storage room, eyes scanning the Café, they settled on Kidd Cole. I lowered my voice. “Ma and Tanner argued! What about?”

  Kidd swallowed hard. “Me.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You?”

  “Yes, I’ve been training at that school since I was ten, I understand the dojo inside out.”

  I nodded. “And...”

  “Tanner wanted to bring me onboard as a junior business partner. This would allow the school to continue for the next generation. Tanner said he set up the dojo to benefit generations to come rather than line his pocket.”

  I rubbed my forehead. That sounded like Tanner. Always thinking about the future, and how to best prepare.

  Kidd continued. “Anyway, Ma wants to cash out, sell the business outright. Not sure why.”

  Sucking in my breath a question came to mind. “Do you think Ma killed Tanner?”

  “No”

  I hope he was right.

  Chapter 19

  Harry Marsden was waiting on the dirt driveway at Ealing Homestead. The air-conditioning in his black Ford Explorer cranked up high to fend off the summer heat. I leaned in through the window, a masculine smell of pine needles mixed with musk.

  “A few more papers to sign, Ollie.” His smile was electrifying showing neat rows of white teeth. I felt dizzy.

  As we walked back toward the house, the earthy masculine scent traveled with us. Along the dusty path through the iron gate, across the wooden porch and into the cool air-conditioned house. Harry sat at the kitchen table, beads of sweat trickling down the sides of both temples.

  “These days the banks are asking for all sorts of extra information. Read the documents and sign,” he ordered.

  I poured two glasses of iced tea with lemon, and reviewed the documents.

  Harry gulped down the amber liquid and looked around for a refill. “Mind if I have another? Mighty thirsty work.”

  The glass refilled, I reviewed the papers. All standard, additional, bank information requests. Harry gathered the signed documents into a little folder. Then put the folder into a tan briefcase, which contained compartments, all labeled in tidy handwriting. I congratulated myself on finding such an organized and efficient business advisor and bookkeeper.

  Together we strolled back to the Ford Explorer. “Harry, right now I'm collecting information on the death of Tanner.”

  “Yes, that’s sounds like a promising idea, Ollie. Might hurry along the sheriff’s investigation a little. Seems not much happening with the law enforcement folk.”

  I rubbed my chin and said. “Harry, you knew Tanner. Who would have killed him and why?”

  Harry didn’t slow down, but twisted his head and stared deep into my eyes. My face flushed and my heart skipped a beat or two. A smile broke out on his face, and his eyes crinkled at the edges.

  “Well, I doubt this was a random killing. Let's go with the premise, the killer is local. The list of potential suspects is small. Tanner didn’t have
any enemies. The business is strong and vibrant. There are no outstanding debts, and Tanner was making plans to expand the dojo. Only one logical possibility remains.”

  Harry stopped, furrowed his brow and gasped. “The logical answer is that Tanner's killer was...his business partner. Ma Jenkins.”

  Wishing he had been more cautious with his words he added, “But don’t quote me on that, Ma is a valuable client.”

  Faultless logic. Somehow this revelation seemed too obvious. But, murder usually isn’t subtle and most of the time, you don’t have that far to look for the killer. Either way, I thought, unless the sheriff’s department is incompetent they’ll come to the same conclusion.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  It was beginning to cool down after a hot afternoon. In the shade of the porch I read my Kindle and sipped iced tea. Bodie lay sleeping close by. The cell phone buzzed. A text message from Ma Jenkins:

  Hey, Ollie, been busy the past few days trying to set up some things. Apologies for not being in contact. But there are a few ideas I would like to bounce off you. I’ll be at the Green Bar Grill at six p.m., fancy dinner?

  Chapter 20

  The Green Bar Grill was in an older part of town with cobbled streets and limestone buildings which were part of the original warehouse district. Only four or five minutes' walk from the dojo. A warm, friendly atmosphere, filled with the scent of roasting meat, beer, and barbecue sauce. Inside, the place was dark, a little dingy, and country music blasted throughout the dining room. I grabbed a menu and a beer and waited at the bar for Ma.

  The cozy eating hole appeared to be a place for laborers, ranchers, hunters, and occasional tourists. The walls, littered with the heads of various animals, mouths wide open with fangs exposed and a terrified glare in their eyes. Against the walls, glass cases each stuffed with fish, most were gigantic. The waiters carried trays with plates, each containing a mini-mountain of meat, including chicken, pork, beef, venison, quail, lamb and goat. I studied the menu for a vegetarian option.

  Then Millie walked in with Bob Lukey, his gray dreadlocks glistened in the dim parlor light. Bob spotted me.

  “See you’ve found one of Medlin Creek’s finest establishments.”

  “Better than the hole-in-the-wall places I frequented in New York.”

  “Well, since you’re here, why not join us for dinner?”

  “Would love to but I’m waiting to meet Ma Jenkins, we have a little business to discuss.”

  “Okay, feel free to join our table when she arrives,” suggested Bob.

  Millie gave me the look. No, I wouldn’t be joining their table for dinner tonight.

  The place was filling fast with people settling into booths and around large tables. Groups of friends, coworkers, even large families, with little children darting between the legs of the waiters.

  At six fifteen p.m., I sent a text message to Ma and grabbed another beer. The low murmur of the voices blended with country music, the aroma of food and beer, to create a comforting elixir. After another two beers, I became lost in my dreams, totally relaxed.

  A familiar voice broke into my bliss.

  “Still waiting for Ma?”

  Bob Lukey stood next to the bar. I picked up my cell phone, it flashed seven thirty p.m. Where was Ma?

  I stumbled to my feet and mumbled, “Oh, no idea.”

  “Well, come over to our table and grab a bite. I’m sure she’ll text you when she arrives.”

  He lowered his voice to a whisper, “In any case, not sure how much more puppet talk I can stand.”

  I looked over at Millie. Professor Purple and Madame Bleu stared back, the eyes ferocious and each puppet's mouth twisted into a snarl. Nope, not a promising idea. Bob was on his own with Millie and the puppets tonight, like it or not.

  “Thanks for the offer, Bob, next time. Need to stop by the dojo, maybe Ma’s still at work.”

  Bob watched as I left the lobby and went out into the street.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Dusk was approaching as I arrived at the dojo. The street empty apart from the occasional jogger and passerby walking a dog. Even Don Andrews pizza parlor, with the red electric sign flashing, "Open twenty-four Hours" appeared deserted. I made a note to grab a slice or two on the way home, I’d be hungry after speaking with Ma.

  The handle on the front door of the dojo was firmly locked, and the chimes of the doorbell went unanswered, along with my best chance of finding out if Ma knew anything which would help solve Tanner’s murder.

  A thought struck me as I entered the pizza parlor: Tony Dean’s martial arts school was only a couple of blocks away. Close enough to walk, I decided to pay the place a visit.

  I didn’t quite break into a run, but wasted no time getting to the Whirlwind Martial Arts School. The front door, unlocked, opened into a wide lobby. There was no one around. On the walls were photographs of Tony Dean in the boxing ring, on the wrestling mat, in the octagon, and on the judo mat. There were pictures of Tony with famous celebrities, heavyweight boxers, mixed martial artists and Kung Fu movie stars. And in center place, was a dagger which had a golden blade with the initials TD carved into the ivory hilt.

  Little gold frames with certificates covering the various martial arts hung between the photos. Tony had trained in Karate, Kung Fu and Mixed Martial Arts. He mastered the softer arts of Aikido and Tai Chi. The man even studied the Filipino art of stick fighting, and classified as a maestro with the knife, broadsword, and samurai sword.

  I sucked in my breath, exhaled, and said, “This guy has an impressive skillset.”

  With four beers complaining to get out of my bladder all at the same time, I searched for the restroom. There it was, at the far end of the lobby hidden behind a reception desk.

  The room was tiny, only one person at a time could be in there, air heavy with the pungent whiff of stale urine mixed with bleach. A toilet, a urinal, and a sink squeezed so close together they almost touched each other. A gray substance splattered the mirror, mildew grew on the small counter attached to the sink which contained congealed grime around the basin. There was brown scum on the toilet bowl, and dark yellow stains in the urinal.

  As I washed my hands, the rumble of a deep voice echoed in the restroom. My blood ran cold and I whirled around raising my arms in a defensive posture. There was no one behind me.

  Then I heard the noise again, a distorted voice. The sound came from the other side of the wall which held the urinal in place. The words were almost audible, if I squeezed myself between the toilet and washbasin placing my ear against the wall, they would be clearer. My foot slipped and I lost my balance, and my left arm plunged deep into the toilet bowl splashing water and solid organic particles into my face.

  “Oh crap,” I huffed.

  Again, I tried, this time placing my ear against a paper-thin wall.

  “What do you mean? Yes, I’ve had a glass or four of the good stuff, with a few beers thrown in, nothing wrong with that. Anyway, I'm celebrating tonight. Soon I'll be the only show in town, now that Tanner’s dead.”

  The sound of vicious laughter followed by the squeak of a file cabinet drawer opening, papers rustling and then the file drawer closing.

  “Listen, I’m going to open a chain of Whirlwind Martial Arts Schools right across Hill Country. The plan is to take over the Ma and Pa shops. If they won’t sell, I’ll drive the dogs out of business. What do you think of that?”

  The voice stopped. In a high-pitched tone, it began again, now singing out of tune, but singing. “La, la, la, the Hill Country will be alive with the sound of Tony Dean Schools, la, la, la.”

  The crackle of laughter.

  “The first deal is about to go down. Ha-ha, that Ma Jenkins is a sucker for sweet words. The ole fool. I’ll fix her for good.”

  A door opened and closed. The jangling of keys, then the lights dimmed in the main lobby and Tony Dean was gone.

  Chapter 21

  I stalked out of the dojo, not even bothering to glance back. Outsid
e, the warm, moist summer night air chased away the stale stench of the restroom. The moon had risen, full and bright, and faint stars twinkled in the clear night sky. Tony Dean was one messed-up individual, possibly a drunken psychopath, I made a note to stay out of his way. One thing was now clear, Tony had the motive, means, and opportunity to kill Tanner, one less martial arts school to compete with. What were his plans for Ma Jenkins? They didn’t sound good.

  The encounter with the toilet bowl quashed thoughts of pizza, a long hot shower was calling. Bright light pouring onto the street from the pizza parlor caused me to glance through the plate-glass window with the bright electric "Always Open" sign. Kidd Cole sat high on a stool with his back toward the window, in conversation with someone. From the street, the conversation was inaudible. The other person was not visible either, but Kidd Cole’s arms were gesticulating, fingers jabbing and pointing at the other person’s face.