Torquere Press Sips and Shots

by Anthology

  “What is it?” I moved to her side to see what had caused her to hesitate.

  The cash drawer was standing open, emptied except for small change. There were bloody marks on the keyboard, and two distinct fingerprints on the drawer itself. We stared for a minute, digesting the situation.

  “He got jacked,” I said. “For the money.”

  Charley nodded. “Looks that way, babe. Damn.”

  We watched cop shows on television, so we knew the rules about crime scenes. Charley dialed 911 on her cell phone and summoned the police.

  * * *

  The ambulance and two fire trucks arrived minutes before the cops, and before long, the tiny lobby was swarming with uniforms. Charley and I moved aside to give the EMTs room. We quietly discussed slipping away, hoping no one would notice, but I was afraid that would make us suspects.

  I hadn’t heard the name of the town until the officer in charge, an overly assertive woman in her forties, approached us and asked, “What are you ladies doing here in Carversville?”

  Out of character for her, Charley didn’t seem to be as offended as I was by the condescending tone in the cop’s voice. “We’re road agents for the Southern Cross Wrestling Federation out of Mobile, Alabama,” she disclosed frankly. “We just booked a show in Detroit and we were driving back home. We stopped in for the night to get some sleep.”

  “Gus was fine when we checked in,” I said.

  The officer didn’t smile. “So, you found him like that this morning?”

  “Yes,” I answered, feeling semi-defensive. “I came to return the key and there he was.”

  “Did you see anybody else?” the officer asked.

  “You mean did we see the person who whacked him?” I clarified, trying to keep the obstinacy out of my voice. “No. I’m pretty sure if I’d walked in on them during the robbery, I’d be lying there on the floor beside Gus.”

  “You might have a point,” the cop agreed, turning to glimpse at the unconscious victim. She poked the EMT with her pen. “What’s the story?” she asked. “Is he going to make it?”

  The balding Emergency Medical Technician gave her a doubtful shrug. “It’s bad. Blunt-force trauma. That means he took a hard lick on the noggin. Looks like a tire iron.”

  “A tire iron?” I said. “But he lost all that blood!”

  “Scalp wounds bleed real bad,” the cop said with hardly any inflection. “A pretty serious head injury.”

  Charley and I were horrified at the graphic realization. “He could die,” I said.

  “It could happen,” the officer said.

  “Then whoever did this is an attempted murderer!” Charley said. “Shouldn’t your people be dusting for prints and shit like that?”

  “They will,” the cop assured us. “They have to go back to the station and get their equipment. In the meantime, I want to get your statements and home addresses so you can be on your way. I’ll give you my number. If you think of anything that might help us find out who did this, be sure to get in touch with me.”

  I considered the face that I’d seen in my vision, but staunchly elected to hold my tongue. They had the bloody fingerprints, so if they were competent, they would find the person responsible for the crime.

  * * *

  A mile down the road, we found a small-town service center that was a combination diner, gas station, and garage. In the same lot, we were told that tire repair and oil change coupons could be obtained at the car wash, which was connected to the local auto parts store. We passed on the car wash, gassed up, and went inside the diner for breakfast.

  The waitress, a plump, middle-aged woman, walked with a cane. As I was pondering on how she managed her job with her limitations, she pushed out a serving cart laden with scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, and a carafe of coffee. Conversationally, she asked us about what had happened over at the Shady Oaks Motel. We divulged that there had evidently been a robbery, but didn’t tell her that the cops figured poor old Gus was at death’s door.

  “My name’s Debbie,” the waitress said with an introductory wave and a half smile. “I’ve known Gus all my life. He’s quite a character.”

  “I gathered that,” I returned. I could see her burning curiosity. “I’m Eve. My friend, Charlene.”

  “Hi. Good to meet you.” Debbie plopped down in a chair borrowed from the next table over and began to speculate. “A few folks around here didn’t much like Gus. He wasn’t never convicted of it, but some think he’s one of them there sex offenders. He never came onto me, so I can’t say, but my youngest daughter says he looks at her like she’s a big, red apple that he’d like to bite into. Maybe he looked at somebody else that way, too, and maybe some jealous husband didn’t like it.”

  I averted my gaze, unable to come up with a response that didn’t sound lame. I had to bite my lower lip to stop it from trembling. Charley spoke for us both. “The hell you say. You mean to say that sweet old man was a perv?”

  “Was?” Debbie was quick to pick up on the tense of the verb.

  “Well, is,” Charley corrected.

  The waitress was sharp. “Is he dead?”

  “When we last saw him, he was breathing,” I answered diplomatically. I fidgeted and took a bite of my eggs. I couldn’t taste them.

  “He’s got helpless folks living in that motel, you know,” Debbie imparted. “Folks that ain’t right in the head, couple of real messed-up gals. One or two of the men have been to prison. One of ‘em got beat senseless in the pokey. One of the men is mentally retarded since birth. Gus keeps ‘em out there, lets them live in the rooms. I hear he takes their monthly social security checks and just gives ‘em what they need to survive.”

  I frowned at the news. “Is he taking advantage of them?”

  “Don’t know for sure,” she answered. “At least he’s taking care of them. Nobody else was willing to. They ain’t living on the street or out in the woods. They got a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Ain’t none of ‘em got enough sense to make it on their own.”

  I remembered the two figures I had seen in the doorways, and the man’s face in my vision, and it occurred to me that she was right. Maybe the old fucker was trying to do a good thing. He probably ended up spending their money on repairs, doctors, prescriptions, or dental appointments that benefitted his guests. At least, that’s the version of the story I would keep telling myself to give the old man the benefit of the doubt.

  Another thought occurred to me. If Gus died, who would take care of those poor people?

  A bell dinged, announcing customers coming through the front door. I pasted on a smile and tried to pretend I would miss our discussion as Debbie struggled to her feet and went to seat them.

  “We are not going to stay here in this one-horse town and play the Whodunnit game, Eve,” Charley said. “We’re not! We’re just... not.”

  “No,” I said. “I... I just want to...”

  “I don’t want to be here, and this thing might never get solved!” she scolded.

  I wanted to go visit those people living in the motel rooms. Because our room had been the only one available, I guessed that there were nine residents, and I had the distinct feeling that eight of those nine were going to need help in the near future.

  But the ninth person was a criminal. And I had seen his face. I would tell Charley about that later. At the moment, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. “Can’t we just stay one more night?” I tilted my head and put on my best pleading look.

  She looked exasperated, but I could see the look affected her. It never failed. “Where are we going to stay? You really want to go back to that dump of a motel? The whole place should’ve been condemned a long time ago! Anyway, the cops will probably have it taped off so nobody can get in there. And besides -- who would we pay?”

  “Do you think Gus ran the place all by himself?”

  “Sure looked that way to me. Did you notice that big can of butts sitting on his desk?”

  I
wrinkled my nose. “I noticed.”

  “We both know the old guy was a pervert. We saw the way he was staring right straight at your boobs.”

  “Well, technically, that doesn’t make him a pervert. That just made him obvious. But yeah, I hear you. I felt... visually violated.”

  “Yeah, I know. Pissed me off a little bit,” she said. “On my bad days, I’m not above punching a senior citizen right square in the nose, but I let him slide because he kept his hands to himself.”

  “I wish I could check on the people living in the motel,” I lamented.

  She shook her head. “What if one of them is the guy who cracked Gus in the head?”

  “One of them is,” I imparted. “I still have our room key. When I found Gus like that, I guess I stuffed in it my pocket and forgot about it. We can go back and use the room. The police couldn’t have blocked the whole place off if people are living there! If they’re as dependent on Gus as Debbie said, they’re going to need help! What if they’re hungry or need medication? Somebody needs to check on them.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a job for the cops?”

  “You would leave the welfare of those people to the officer we talked to a while ago? She didn’t seem like the nurturing type to me.”

  She heaved a long sigh. “I was afraid you were going to say that,” she groaned.

  * * *

  Three police cars were at the motel, but there was no yellow tape in sight. A group of people were gathered beneath a massive weeping willow tree at the corner, viewing the investigation from a distance. I assumed, judging by the state of their wrinkled, ill-fitting clothing and their uncombed hair, that these people were the room residents. As we parked and got out of the car, I studied them.

  Ironically, it was Charley who prompted me. “Well, go on. Go introduce yourself.”

  I hesitated. “You think I should?”

  “They’re human beings, not animals. If anybody attacks you, the cops are right there.”

  I glimpsed at the young policeman who was wrapping the door handle with wide, clear tape, and suddenly, I had second thoughts. “Why are we involving ourselves in this again?”

  “Because you’re a bleeding heart who cares too much,” Charley answered. “And you’re a total airhead. You’ll fit right in. So go.”

  “I am,” I agreed. “And I do.” I opened the car door. “And I will.”

  “And that’s all of the reasons I love you, baby. So get over there and mingle with the loons.”

  I didn’t think ‘loon’ was the right word for them. Wasn’t that a type of duck or something? But I sauntered over to the group and tried to unobtrusively blend with them. I thought I stuck out like a turkey in the henhouse.

  Their curiosity put me on the spot, but I was even more curious about them. “I’m Eve,” I said, sticking out my hand to the nearest woman. She was in her thirties, extremely thin, obviously anorexic. She wore a shapeless orange dress that matched her orange hair. She was barefoot, and her toenails were filthy. “You live here?”

  She nodded. I detected no mistrust in her green eyes. “Yeah, I’m in Room 1. I’m Allison. Somebody must’ve killed Gus.”

  A heavy, black woman wearing sweat pants and a bright yellow T-shirt had more information. “Mickey done it. Mickey. He’s hiding in them woods so the po-lice don’t get him. He’s the one done it, the sorry motherfucker.”

  Allison took it on herself to make introductions. “This is Jolene. Pat, Bob, Steve, Tammy, Robin.” I studied each person as they were named. Jolene looked nothing at all like Charley, but her attitude was similar. I immediately liked her. Pat, Bob, and Steve were all nondescript white men, in their middle years. Tammy and Robin were young white women who seemed intimidated by the outside world. Robin’s eyes stayed averted as if, in the past, she had been punished for visual confrontations. They were, indeed, a pathetic bunch, but my heart went out to them. I wanted to help them. I had no idea what needed to be done, but leaving them in this god-forsaken motel in the boonies wasn’t the solution.

  I tried to focus on the issue at hand. “Did you see Mickey do it?” I asked Jolene.

  “Nope, but nobody else woulda done such a thing. He’s got that rage thing going. Never see him when he’s not foaming at the mouth, all pissed off at the world. His room is full of holes where he’s punched and kicked in the walls when things don’t go his way. Asshole motherfucker. A button pops off his shirt and he throws a chair through the wall. Gus gave him a place to live when nobody else would, but the stupid asshole hated the old dude, threatened to kill him a couple of times. Yeah, it was Mickey.”

  I didn’t tell her that Gus wasn’t dead -- at least he hadn’t been when we’d last seen him. “Where did Mickey live?” I asked.

  “In nine, right next to me. I’m in eight.”

  “Who lives in ten?” I asked, peering at the row of doors.

  “Nobody. That room’s got big leaks in the roof and shit,” Jolene said.

  “Nobody in four, either,” Allison said. “Except you and your friend stayed there last night.”

  “We might stay again tonight,” I told her. “If the cops don’t object. If Gus really is dead, whoever inherits the motel might not want us all living here.” My ploy to include myself was meant to incorporate me in their circle, and it seemed to work. Without having to do much to earn their trust, I had been accepted. It distressed me that they were such easy marks for unscrupulous people, which increased my desire to help them.

  “That would be me.” Standing between the other two men, Bob stood straighter and made his claim. “Gus is my grandpa. I’m the only kin he’s got left, so I reckon that means I get the building.”

  “And what are your plans for it?” I asked hopefully. It was plain that Bob was mentally challenged, so I had my doubts about his ability to handle the responsibility.

  Bob shrugged and spit on the ground. “Don’t know, yet. Leave things the way they are for now, maybe.”

  “Don’t you receive income from social security?” I said. “There have to be apartments or mobile homes you can rent in Carversville.”

  “Us?” Jolene snorted. “We’re a bunch of rejects! Who would rent to us?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” I asked.

  Pat, the tallest of the three men, spoke up. “I was in prison for twenty-five years. Doubt anybody would want me living in their neighborhood.”

  “What was your crime?” Charley asked as she joined us. I reached out to draw her close beside me, comforted by her presence.

  “Rape, murder.”

  “Who did you rape and murder?”

  Pat’s blue eyes darkened. “It was a mistake. It wasn’t rape. The bitch was willing, but then she went nuts because I wasn’t hung well enough to satisfy her, and she didn’t get her rocks off. She started calling me all kinds of nasty names. She busted me in the nose a couple of times, and I just snapped. I grabbed her neck and shoved her off of me. Got my clothes on and left. I guess she cracked her head on something, ‘cause the law found her dead later on.”

  I shivered at the graphic details. “You spent twenty-five years locked up for an accident!” I said. “And now you can’t even rent a home because your reputation follows you around. That’s not right.”

  “I was in the asylum over to Hopkinsville,” Robin said in a high-pitched tremor, her eyes steadfastly lowered to ground level. “Thirteen years in that place. I’m sure nobody would ever rent me a trailer, either.”

  Consolingly, Tammy put an arm around Robin’s shoulders. “Like Jolene said, we’re rejects. This place is the only home I’ve ever had. I lived on the streets in Louisville most of my life.”

  “I’m no stranger to the cold outdoors either,” Jolene said. “I came here from Indiana, looking for work, but what I found was more of the same shit I grew up with.”

  The last to speak, Steve cleared his throat and announced, “I had a home, once. Had a job, a family, nice things... All went to hell when I lost my job. I wand
ered around loose for a while, got put in jail for public drunkenness a lot.”

  “You’re all just victims of circumstance,” Charley said. “Gus isn’t the only person who can help you. There are shelters and stuff.”

  I looked around the misfits, picked out Jolene as the person who would be most likely to state the bald truth, and asked, “Did Gus mistreat you? Was he kind and generous, or was he ripping you off?”

  Jolene sighed. “Both,” she answered. “He was good as gold to us all, but he did pocket them checks. He took every cent, but we had a roof over our heads, bed to sleep in, plenty of food and clean clothes.”

  “Did he put the moves on any of the women?” Charley asked.

  “Just me, I think,” Allison answered primly. “He usually slept in my bed, when he slept. Mostly, he stayed in the office.”

  “Yeah,” Jolene affirmed. “He’s sweet on Allison. But he can’t do anything for her since he can’t get it up. He just likes to touch.”

  My cheeks heated up in slight embarrassment. “So, what about Mickey?”

  The group was silent, all eyes wandering toward the wooded area behind the motel.

  “So,” Charley said, following their gazes. “He’s in the woods?”

  “He’s afraid the cops will take him back to prison,” Allison said softly. “Killing is wrong.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Charley agreed. She caught my gaze and asked, “Did Mickey whack the old man, Eve? Was it really him?”

  Hesitantly, I shrugged. “What does Mickey look like?” I asked the residents.

  “He looks like an asshole,” Jolene answered bluntly.

  Steve took out his wallet, pulled out a photograph and handed it to me. In the picture, Steve, Bob and another man were standing in front of the office, both men giving Bob rabbit ears with their fingers. The third man was tall and slender, and even in the picture, I could sense malice in him. He was indeed the man I had seen in my vision. “This is him,” I confirmed, shuddering at those demented eyes. I handed back the photo. “He’s the one.”

  “You saw him?” Jolene asked, staring at me.