The Sweet and the Dead

by Milton T. Burton

  “They’ve started believing all this publicity they’ve been getting,” I said with a shrug. “On top of all the newspaper and magazine crap, Perp Smoot’s show was just like throwing gasoline on a fire.”

  “Shit on publicity. We ain’t in the goddamned entertainment business.”

  “They eat it up,” I said. “Jasper especially.”

  “I know, but if I’ve learned anything in my life it’s that anytime a man in our line of work gets too big for his britches things are gonna come down on him like a ninety-pound hammer. It’s gonna happen to this bunch just as sure as God made little green apples.”

  Jasper was soon back. “You’re right, Hardhead,” he said. “We need to tighten things up. And I’m getting off the blow for the duration. How’s that?”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” the old man replied. “And I think it would be better if didn’t none of us give no more TV interviews.”

  “You got it,” Jasper said with a grin, and motioned for the waitress.

  So that problem was solved.

  In my years of dealing with the likes of Jasper I found that they made a great deal of the concept of “respect.” And while I doubt it was the same kind of respect I learned growing up to have for President Roosevelt and General Eisenhower, I feel sure that if he’d been asked, Jasper would have said that he respected Weller. I think what he would have really meant was that he had a high regard for the clarity of the old man’s judgment. I think he knew too that if things got bad enough, Weller wouldn’t hesitate to take him out of the game and finish the job on his own.

  Thirty-eight

  The next afternoon I was at the Gold Dust when the bartender came over to tell me I had a phone call. It was Nell and she wanted me to come out to the house. She answered my knock wearing a dark gray pleated skirt, a blue sweater, and a worried frown. “What’s up?” I asked.

  She shook her head and led me up to her bedroom and got me seated in that goofy armless chair. “Manfred, I’ve got to show you something,” she said. “But first I want you to promise me you won’t get your feelings hurt and go stomping off until you’ve given me a chance to explain.”

  “Sure,” I said, puzzled.

  “It’s what we were talking about the other day when you asked me about you and Jasper. I know why you’re down here, Manfred. I’ve known all along.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded her head, and there were tears in her eyes and she had a pained, vulnerable expression on her face. “This makes me look like I’ve been so dishonest,” she said. “And I guess I have been. My only defense is that I thought it was for a good cause—”

  She went over to the dresser where her purse lay. She pulled out a small leather case about the size of a checkbook and handed it to me. Inside was a fancy plastic ID card that held her picture. It said, “Linda Nell Bigelow, Special Agent, Mississippi Department of Public Safety.” As I gazed at it the world seemed to be spinning out from under me, and I actually felt tears coming to my own eyes.

  I started to rise. All I could think of was to get away from her, the house, everything. Just get in my car and drive. She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me gently back down into the chair. Then she bent down and looked straight at me, her face only a few inches from mine. “Answer one question for me,” she said. “Just please stop and think a minute and answer this one question.”

  “Okay,” I muttered weakly.

  “Do you think I would sleep with somebody just because Curtis Blanchard asked me to? Or for the state of Mississippi, or for some undercover police operation? Or for any reason other than really wanting to?”

  I stared at that marvelous, fine-boned face for a few seconds, then shook my head. “No,” I said, my voice nearly inaudible.

  “Then you’ll let me explain?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, feeling ashamed of myself.

  “Curtis is an old family friend, and he knew that I’ve been coming down here every December for years. I always stay a couple of weeks, then drive Aunt Lurleen up to Greenville for Christmas, just like we did this year. He also knew that I sometimes see Jasper when I’m in town, and this year he asked me if I’d try to keep an eye on you. ...”

  “On me?” I asked astonished.

  She nodded. “Yeah. He said he was afraid you might not pull up soon enough if things got really dangerous. That was my job. My only job. To get you out if I felt like we needed to.”

  “So you’re a cop?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I’ve done some legal work for the state a few times, and he got me this commission to make things easier for me.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “Yeah. I was just supposed to meet you and keep an eye on you. He didn’t even ask me to go out with you. Running into you that first night was just an accident and nothing more. Everything else that happened between us was us, Manfred. Not part of the job. Just me and you. And it’s real. At least for me it’s real.”

  She went over to the dresser and put the little leather case back in her purse. Then she came back and sat down on my lap. “Now I think you can see why I wasn’t disturbed by all the rumors floating around about you and Danny Sheffield, can’t you?” she asked me with a sad smile.

  “Yes, but why are you telling me this now?” I asked.

  “Partially because the other day you knew I was lying when I said I had no idea of why you were hanging around with Jasper. It made me feel so cheap to have to do that.”

  “But—” I began.

  She shook her head and her dark hair rippled just as it had that first night in the Gold Dust. “Hush,” she said softly, silencing me. “Let’s talk about us first,” she said.

  “What about us?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she put her arms around me and buried her face in the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I could feel her breath hot on my skin and hear it rasping gently in my ears. We sat there in silence for what must have been a full minute, then I said it: “Nell, I’m so in love with you that I can’t see straight.”

  “Me too,” she replied, her voice husky against my shoulder.

  “Then what do we do about it?”

  She was silent and motionless for a moment. Then she lifted her head from my shoulder. “I bet I can think of something,” she said. She rose from my lap and her hands went up under her skirt and came out with a pair of black silk panties. The panties fell to the floor and were kicked aside and she was back on my lap, this time with a leg on either side of me and she was clawing at my belt.

  “Isn’t doing it in your room supposed to be trashy?” I asked.

  “I hope so,” she replied softly. “Trashy always sounded like a lot of fun to me.”

  “So that’s what that chair is for,” I said.

  “Not for several years it hasn’t been,” she said. “And then I was married to the poor fool.”

  She sat propped up in her bed, her legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. I was still in the chair. I gazed at her for a while just for the pure pleasure of seeing her in that chaste librarian’s outfit with her hair mussed and an after-love blush on her cheeks. She smiled at me and I smiled back. Finally I broke the silence. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, either, Nell. I didn’t tell you the real reason I’m down here.”

  “No, you didn’t. But I knew anyway, and that gave me the advantage. Besides, it wasn’t quite the same thing. You really weren’t under any obligation to tell me.”

  “Well...” I began.

  “Look, Manfred…This whole operation means nothing to me, and this so-called job of mine means even less. If you have any doubts about me left in your mind, just say the word. We’ll both walk away from it, and I’ll follow you anywhere.”

  “No, I believe you. But why did you decide to tell me today?”

  “Because I’ve just had enough of the damned deception. And also because I know who killed Benny Weiss.”

  The world reeled o
nce again. “How in the name of God did you find that out? Did Curtis tell you?”

  She shook her head. “I imagine he knows, but he’s not the one who told me. This investigation is a joint federal-state affair. The feds are working some of the background people. You know who I mean. The ones who steer the jobs and so forth. They’re after Lodke. And Eula Dent, too. This isn’t the only illegal pie that old whore’s got her finger in by a long shot.”

  “So you know about Eula?”

  “Sure. The IRS is about to jump on her with both feet. You see, she never intended to be an honest accountant. The whole purpose she and Lodke had in getting her an education was criminal. She’s been cooking taxes and steering jobs for years.”

  “Damn,” I said with a grin.

  “That’s not all. Back in her State Line days she beat one of her tricks to death with a hammer. He was drunk and passed out, with several hundred dollars in his pockets. But he woke up while she was robbing him. And his wasn’t the only body to disappear around Drewery Holler back in those days. God only knows how many poor bastards are buried in shallow, unmarked graves in those woods up there.”

  “You know a lot about these people,” I said.

  “I know the whole setup, Manfred. All the individual backgrounds, everything. Curtis hired me as a liaison to the federal people six months ago. I was a natural for the job because I’d worked for the feds in the past. I’ve been doing legal stuff for him, coordination, the same way prosecutors work with cops all the time.”

  “Are you supposed to be telling me this?”

  “Of course not. But I don’t give a damn. Anyway, a couple of days ago a guy I knew back when I was at the federal prosecutor’s office in Dallas called me, and we got to talking. This is all meant to be confidential, but you know how people are. When Benny’s name came up, I asked a few discreet questions. ...”

  Thirty-nine

  I stayed for supper once again. Later that evening Nell and I walked hand in hand out to my car. The Spanish moss hung heavily from the great oaks in Lurleen’s yard, and in the moon-light it gave the place a ghostly Old South charm.

  “At least you don’t think I might be keeping an eye on you for Jasper any longer,” she said.

  “I never really thought that.”

  “No, but the possibility must have entered your mind. You would have been a fool if it hadn’t.”

  “A lot of possibilities have entered my mind since I came to Biloxi,” I said, running my hands tiredly through my hair. I’d never missed anybody more in my life than I missed Benny Weiss at that moment. Desperately I longed to be able to sit down in his big backyard in Plano with a cold beer and lay it all out for him. But if I couldn’t trust Nell at this point, I was doomed anyway. So I told her about seeing Blanchard with Sam Lodke that day in Jackson.

  “What!?” she exclaimed. “Are you sure it was Lodke?”

  “Not a doubt in my mind. It was him.”

  “Curtis! That son-of-a-bitch!” she exclaimed bitterly. “You just come on back inside, and I’ll call him up and we’ll find out what’s going on.”

  She started to turn, and I put my hands on her shoulders to stop her. “You can’t,” I said. “That’s the one thing you can’t do. Not yet.”

  “Why not? I mean, he’s been playing God with both of us, and now—”

  “It won’t work. We can’t do it now. We’ve got to wait because it’s the only way we’ll ever find out the real truth. Don’t you realize he’s smart enough that he’s got a contingency story ready? I don’t want him to be able to explain things away, and now, for the first time, we know more about his business than he knows about ours.”

  She looked up at me for the longest time, her eyes hooded with worry.

  “It has to be this way, Nell,” I said.

  Finally she nodded in agreement. “Okay, but I don’t like it.”

  “I know, but it may all be perfectly innocent. I mean, he’s a friend of yours. ...”

  She shook her head. “No, not really. He’s more of a family friend. Truthfully, I’ve begun to like him less and less in the past couple of years. He’s changed, and not for the better. I think he’s got political ambitions, and pretty big ones at that.”

  “Nell, there’s something else about Blanchard that I found out,” I said.

  “What?”

  I told her about my trip to the Jackson library and my search through the newspaper clippings. “He’s foiled five high-line robberies in the last two years, and in each case the cops were vague about how they got their information. In three of them people were killed. One of the guys that went down was Frenchy DeNoilles, one of Sparks’s longtime associates. And I know for a fact that Sam Lodke had steered jobs for him in the past.”

  “So that means—?”

  “It means that Lodke ratted him out. Hell, he probably ratted them all out.”

  “But why?”

  “Who knows? Blanchard must have something pretty heavy on him. But since he has me working undercover on this job, why does he even need to be talking to Lodke? And why didn’t he tell me that Lodke was in the bag, or at least that he had a good informant down here? That damn sure indicates bad faith on his part.”

  “So you think—” she began.

  “I don’t know what I think, Nell. But the second I saw Lodke with him every hair on my body tried to stand on end. I knew right then that there’s something terribly wrong with this whole deal. Cops have instincts, and mine are pretty damn good.”

  As I was getting in the car, I turned back to her and asked the real question that was on my mind. “Why did you tell me who killed Benny?”

  “Because the feds aren’t planning to do anything about it. They’re going to let him walk.”

  “What!?” I asked, outraged.

  “Nailing him would ‘conflict with their original objectives,’ as my contact worded it. Besides, they claim they need to protect their informant. They don’t want to put her in a situation where she might have to be a witness.”

  “I see,” I said, and nodded in understanding. I’d seen it happen before. “But what do you expect me to do about it, Nell?” I asked.

  “Whatever you need to do, Manfred,” she said.

  I sighed and leaned against the car. “You know,” I said, “so many people think there’s always a choice between right and wrong, and that it’s always so easy to do the right thing. But the truth is that sometimes all this old world gives you is the opportunity to commit the lesser of two evils. Or to commit a lesser evil to prevent a much greater one ...” I trailed off and shook my head. “Or maybe I’m just blowing smoke.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said softly. “And that’s why I’m not a prosecutor anymore.”

  “So…?”

  We gazed into one another’s eyes for a long time before she finally spoke. “So I’ll be here when you get back,” she said in a clear, firm voice.

  Forty

  For a few days it appeared we were on the downhill run to the job with no more problems in sight. Then Junior Connally beat up one of the Gold Dust’s whores and landed in jail. It happened about ten o’clock in the evening, two days after Weller and I had our talk with Jasper, and the girl in the next trailer was unable to rouse any help. Finally she called the police.

  Four carloads of cops and an ambulance swarmed the place. Three officers came inside the club and began questioning regulars. As always, no one knew anything.

  Early the next afternoon Weller called and asked me to meet him and Jasper at the club. I found them at the corner booth with the girl who had called the cops. She was a cute little brunette with bright eyes and a syrupy voice that made me think of the Carolina Low Country. “Hog, this is Debbie,” Sparks said. “Sit down here and listen to this shit she’s telling.”

  The girl was reluctant to talk in front of me. “Jasper, I’d really rather not. ...” she began.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Sparks said gently. “Hog’s good people. He’s the guy I
told you about who dates Miss Bigelow.”

  “Oh, wow! You go with Miss Nell?”

  I nodded. It seemed that Nell was greatly admired among Biloxi’s ladies of the night.

  “She’s tops!” the girl chirped.

  I reached over and patted her hand. “I think so too,” I said. “Now, you just go ahead and tell me what happened last night.”

  “Well,” she began. “Nicole…That’s her name. The girl that got beat up last night, I mean. Anyway, after I run him off, she told me that—”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, interrupting her. “You ran Junior Connally off?”

  “With a broom handle, man,” Sparks said, grinning. “She went in there and beat the living shit out of Junior with a frigging broom handle. Has this girl got balls or not?”

  “I ain’t got no balls, Jasper,” she said with a giggle, and whacked him on the arm. “You ought to know that if anybody does!”

  “Go ahead with your story, darlin’,” Weller said patiently.

  “Well, after he left I asked Nicole what happened, and she told me that he went to raising hell because she’s a Cajun.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said, looking at Sparks and Weller.

  “She didn’t tell him she’s a Cajun beforehand,” Debbie said. “I mean before they did it. That was what set him off. He thought she ought to have told him ‘cause he don’t like Frogs, which is what he calls French people. See, he asked her about her name, and she said, ‘It’s French.’ Then when he found out about her being Cajun French instead of France-type French, he really went to raising hell. He said that folks call Cajuns coon-asses because they’re part colored, and he don’t fool with nobody but white women. That’s when he started beating her up.”

  “But Cajuns aren’t part colored,” I said. “Coon-ass means—”

  “Junior just needed an excuse,” Weller said. “If it hadn’t been that, it would have been something else.”