Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  Good point, Bruce, but what do you suggest?

  It's so simple, Delilah. You gals need to tell us what you like. Debbie said she likes a guy to talk to her—tell her how beautiful she is. Well, does she talk to her guy? Does she tell him what she wants? I doubt it.

  How about you, Bruce? Do you please your women?

  I hope so. That's my point. Sure, I'm after my own pleasure but I want my lover to be pleased too. Unlike your previous callers, I think most guys are after mutual joy, but if you women keep faking it and refuse to teach us, how can any of us succeed?

  "You in there, Cliff?” Carl Elliott bellowed from outside the motel room door.

  Cliff snapped off the radio before punching the power button on the vacuum cleaner. “Yeah, Carl. Come on in."

  "Damn,” Carl said as he came through the door. “This room certainly looks different from the last time I was in here. I kind of miss the spider webs."

  Cliff sat on the mattress and smiled. “This is the last room. A thorough cleaning makes a ton of difference. I need to drag all the mattresses outside, strip off the plastic covers and let them air a little and then I'll be ready to start on the store and restaurant."

  Carl sprawled in the chair next to the dresser. “Needs paint, Cliff."

  "Yeah, but that'll have to wait."

  "On what?"

  "On Julie."

  "You mean she hasn't decided to keep the place?"

  Cliff shook his head. “I haven't given up. I'm still working on her. What's on your mind this afternoon, Carl?"

  "Two things. First, I wanted to see if the place is still for sale. Second, Sarasue thinks you need a home cooked meal. Can you join us tonight about seven?"

  "Hey, man, I appreciate the invite, but I'm afraid I don't make a very good dinner guest. I never learned which fork to use."

  Carl chuckled as he stood. “Won't be a problem at our house. We don't put but one fork on the table. We, Sarasue and me, have something we want to discuss with you. I do hope you'll join us."

  "What's on your mind?"

  "I have a couple of things to check out before I spill the beans. See you at seven?"

  Cliff grinned. “You've got my curiosity up. I'll be there."

  Determined to complete the day's plan, Cliff picked up the pace, drug mattresses into the parking lot to air amid trips to the washer and dryer where he was giving all the linens and coverlets a good cleaning. He folded and put away the last sheet at six fifteen and jumped into the shower.

  As he washed the days grime from his muscular body, his thoughts turned to Julie. He knew she would be proud of him if she could see the work he was doing. He knew that once he cleaned the store and restaurant, she would want to open the place. Somehow, he must find a way to get her back to Dot just as soon as he finished the work.

  Following Carl's directions, Cliff easily found the Elliott's house, but its size and beauty surprised him. He felt as if he somehow accidentally crossed over to the right side of the tracks. Making small talk was not his long suit. He expected the table talk to revolve around whatever it was the Elliotts wanted to discuss with him, but instead, both Carl and Sarasue attacked the delicious pork chop meal with little conversation at all.

  "You ever play Monopoly?” Carl asked as he pushed back from the table and wiped his lips with a paper napkin.

  "Sure, but only if I can be the racecar,” Cliff joked.

  "That'll work out just fine,” Sarasue beamed. “I'm the thimble and Carl is the high hat."

  The trio adjourned to the den where the board game was already set up. Sarasue served frosty bottles of beer as Carl explained their special version of the game that allowed it to be completed in a couple of hours. Property was divided and then the swapping and trading began. Cliff was not pleased that he wound up with Boardwalk and Park Place. He wondered if Carl would ever get around to the promised conversation.

  "I'll trade you Boardwalk and Park Place for the Pennsylvania Avenue and related sites along with your railroads,” Cliff offered Carl.

  "Now why would you do that? Boardwalk and Park Place are the most valuable properties."

  "Just being neighborly,” Cliff joked.

  "Sweeten the pot."

  "Say what?"

  "If you get Pennsylvania Avenue and the railroads, it'll give you the whole side of the board."

  "Yeah, but if you have Park Place and Boardwalk, you'll have the entire corner."

  "A thousand bucks or it's no deal."

  "Five hundred,” Cliff countered.

  "Oh, give the man seven fifty and let's get on with the game,” Sarasue joked as she reached for the dice.

  Cliff hadn't played Monopoly since his days of incarceration, but it came back to him quickly. He always won when playing with other prisoners, but Carl and Sarasue proved to be more worthy adversaries. Two hours later, the contestants agreed to declare a three-way draw.

  Sarasue went to the kitchen for another round of beer while Carl and Cliff put away the game.

  "Carl,” Cliff said. “I've been very patient, but damn it, I can't hold my peace any longer. This afternoon you said there was something special you and Sarasue wanted to talk with me about."

  "There sure is, honey,” Sarasue said as she came back into the den with a tray of Budweisers. “After all these years of looking after other people's young ‘uns, I'm soon going to be looking after my own."

  Cliff jumped up and took the tray from Sarasue. “That's great!” he said with genuine excitement. “I hope to have children myself one of these days."

  "That ain't all,” Carl grinned as he helped himself to a beer. “Sarasue sold her little daycare business to Tiny Tots. You ever heard of them?"

  "Can't say that I have,” Cliff replied, sitting on the sofa with a beer in his hand.

  "They're a national chain of daycare centers,” Sarasue explained, sitting beside Cliff.

  "They bought several acres beside the schoolhouse on Highway 13 and plan to begin construction next week. I didn't get the job, but Sarasue got a right nice sum for her business."

  Cliff grinned, not knowing what else to do or say.

  "How come you didn't tell us you are an ex-con?” Sarasue asked.

  Cliff's mouth went dry at the unexpected question.

  "There's a private detective in Dot. He's an old-timer, but very good at what he does. I engaged his services to check you out,” Carl continued.

  "There was no reason for me to mention it and as far as I can tell, it's none of your business."

  "Maybe, maybe not,” Sarasue said.

  "Borders says you've kept your nose clean since getting out."

  Cliff stood and placed his half-empty beer on the table. “I thank you for the meal and game,” he said coldly.

  "Sit your butt down, Big Man,” Sarasue said. “We ain't done yet."

  "The Monopoly game was another test,” Carl explained. “You appreciate value and money. You're willing to take a risk only if there's a good chance of positive return. I like that."

  "You're honest, too,” Sarasue commented. “That's important."

  "Knowing that I've done time, what makes you think I'm honest?” Cliff asked, sitting back down on the sofa after retrieving the beer.

  "During the game we gave you all kinds of opportunities to cheat. You refused them all,” Carl explained.

  "I still don't understand what you're driving at."

  "We want to make you a business offer,” Sarasue said. “Honesty and an appreciation of value and money is of utmost importance."

  "What kind of business offer?"

  "We're going to make an offer on Julie Wilson's land,” Carl said. “I had a long talk with Tim Dollar. He really doesn't want the land after all. He even offered to loan me the money to buy the place."

  "You going into the Christmas tree business?"

  Sarasue chuckled. “Carl knows how to build houses, not grow trees."

  Carl coughed. “We might use some of the land for that, but right no
w we're thinking of making a subdivision out of the place, fixing up the log cabin for us to live in, and reopening the businesses on the highway. I'm going to see Creasy Green first thing tomorrow and offer two hundred thousand for the place. My guess it that Miss Wilson will take it."

  "It's a fair price,” Sarasue said.

  "We want you to run the businesses for us. We'll pay you a decent salary and cut you in for a piece of the action. What do you think of that?"

  Cliff drained his beer and glanced first at Sarasue and then Carl. “I think that if you have the capital to back it, you have a gold mine of an idea."

  "Are you coming in with us?” Sarasue asked in a tone of voice that implied she knew the answer.

  "No."

  Carl's eyes bulged. “Say what?"

  Cliff chuckled. “My answer surprises me too."

  Carl's lips curled. “You think you're too good to work for black people?"

  "African Americans,” Sarasue corrected.

  "I ain't never been to Africa and sure as hell didn't come from there,” Carl barked.

  "I thought that opening those businesses was what I wanted to do, but now I realize there is no appeal if Julie isn't a part of the deal,” Cliff explained.

  "You sweet on Julie or something?” Sarasue asked.

  Cliff smiled. “Yeah. I guess I am."

  Chapter Eight

  Julie's brush lashed the page with a vengeance she seldom experienced. The creative juices were flowing with a welcomed vigor and she knew exactly the reason why—Ally Thomas. Perhaps Ally was only a friend. Maybe one day they would be lovers. For the moment, whatever the significance of their relationship might turn out to be, a huge spot in her life that had too long been empty was now filled.

  When they crawled out of bed, there was no touching, no sensuous looks or verbal expressions, but there was definitely an as yet undefined something that brought joy to Julie's heart.

  Ally felt better too. She ate with gusto the breakfast Julie prepared and read quietly as Julie mounted the stool in front of her easel. Now Ally was in the kitchen and the aroma that drifted into Julie's studio promised a delicious lunch.

  "What is it?” Julie asked after sitting at the kitchen table and inhaling deeply the pungent fragrance of the steaming bowl before her.

  "Chicken and lumplins,” Ally responded as she sat at the opposite end of the table. “It's my own recipe—thick chicken soup with secret spices.” Ally's eyes sparkled.

  "Lumplins?” Julie asked.

  Ally chuckled. “Instead of rolling out the dough to make dumplings, I spoon little lumps of dough into the simmering soup—lumplins."

  "Umm,” Julie moaned as she savored the first bite.

  "Salt and pepper?” Ally asked, pushing the shakers towards Julie.

  Julie shook her head as she swallowed and spooned a second bite. “It's perfect the way it is. Is this one of the dishes you served in your diner?"

  "It sure is. I specialized in simple, rib-sticking food. Pinto bean soup, beef stew, hobo stew, turkey tetrazzini and hash—things like that."

  Julie closed her eyes in sheer delight. “With food this heavenly, how in the world did your diner fail?"

  "There were plenty of customers and sales, but you can charge just so much for bean soup,” Ally explained. “There simply wasn't enough margin to pay the bills."

  Julie helped herself to a second and then a third serving. As she carried her empty bowl to the sink, she asked, “You miss the diner, don't you?"

  Ally moved to the sink, reached for the faucet handle and replied, “More than I can say, but I'll never go down that path again."

  Julie placed her hands on Ally's shoulders and gently turned her lookalike to face her. “Why not? The second time might be the charm."

  Ally shook her head and gently touched Julie's cheek. “I don't like failure, Julie. I put my heart and soul into that business. A big part of me died when I closed the doors for the last time. I won't ever risk it again."

  "What if you have a partner?"

  "You?"

  "Don't sound so astonished. I'm not much of a cook, but I do have a few bucks salted away in the bank."

  "Julie, I couldn't..."

  A knock at the door interrupted.

  "You expecting someone?” Julie asked.

  "It could be Sis. I'll get it."

  Julie watched Ally move through the kitchen door. Twenty-four hours earlier Ally could barely move. Now, thanks to the pain medication and the healing hand of time, there was only a slight limp slowing her pace and Ally was having a much easier time of masking her pain. As Julie made her way back to the studio, she heard soft voices coming from the living room. One voice seemed masculine. Maybe it was Jim with more of Ally's clothing.

  She sat at her easel and reached for the brush, curious as to why the voices suddenly stopped. She dabbed the brush in red paint, wiped the excess off on the side of the container and poised it over the flowing robe of the sketched model. She turned and gasped as the door to her studio opened.

  "You make a sound and I'll blow her head off right now."

  Julie knew the man, whose hand was tightly wrapped in Ally's hair, must be Frank. The pistol he held to Ally's temple was cocked. Pure terror registered in Ally's eyes.

  The gunman grinned evilly. “Did you ladies know, when you got up this morning, that this is the last day of your worthless lives?"

  Ally's voice quivered when she spoke. “Leave her alone, Frank. It's me you want."

  "Dead men tell no tales,” he said, tightening the grip in her hair. “Neither do dead women.” He glared at Julie. “Get down on all fours or I'll kill you right now."

  Julie couldn't find her voice. She obeyed.

  "You emptied my bank account,” he snarled.

  "Our bank account,” Ally countered, “and I only took half."

  "I want it."

  "It's in my purse—in the bedroom."

  Frank pushed Ally next to Julie and released his grip on her hair. “If you're not back in two minutes, she's dead."

  "Please don't hurt her, Frank. I'll do whatever you say."

  "You now have a minute and a half."

  Julie felt helpless as she stared at Frank's shoes. “How did you find us?” she managed to ask.

  "Wasn't hard. You're listed in the telephone book."

  "But how did you know Ally was with me?"

  "Lucky guess. When Ally came home two nights ago after seeing her lover, she claimed she simply had dinner with you. I happened to remember your name. Damned if you aren't as flat chested as she is. Strip for me, bitch."

  "Leave her alone, Frank,” Ally pleaded, returning to the room with a roll of bills in her hand.

  "You gals show me a good time and I might let you off with a good beating,” Frank grinned. “That's it. Show me a good time and I'll let you live. When I'm done with you, I'll tie you up nice and secure. By the time you get free, I'll be out of the country.” He kicked Julie savagely in the ribs. “I said strip, damn it."

  Julie tumbled to her back and gripped her side as she screamed in pain.

  "Get your clothes off, bitch!"

  Julie lifted her head, glanced at the open door to the living room and forced her eyes away from it. She sat up. Her fingers flew to the buttons on her thin blouse and she fought to remember the triple X movies she had watched on TV. “You're right, Frank,” she said as she pulled the blouse from her slacks. “My breasts are small, but, judging from the bulge in your pants, you're huge where it counts."

  She glanced at Ally. “I'm sorry, Ally. Frank turns me on."

  Her gaze, as sensuous as she could fake it, returned to Frank's rapidly glazing eyes as she let the blouse fall to the floor.

  "Damn, bitch. That's a sexy little bra."

  "Wait ’til you see my panties,” she crooned while getting to her feet. She could feel Frank's eyes burning into her flesh as she pushed down the slacks. “I have a talented mouth, Frank. I want to lick you from head to toe."r />
  "You know what I want licked, bitch. Let's see those tits."

  She inhaled, jutting her breasts forward, and closed her eyes. “Rip the bra off me, Frank. Tear off my panties."

  Frank grinned as he moved to her. “You like your sex rough, do you bitch?"

  "God, yes, Frank. Be my monster. Slap me around like you do Ally."

  Frank literally drooled as he shifted the pistol to his left hand and dug the fingers of his right hand under the bra between her breasts.

  "Now!” Julie cried, slamming her knee into Frank's groin.

  In less than a second, Cliff hit Frank with a diving tackle. The gun fell from Frank's hand and slid under the table. All four scrambled after it and struggled for possession. Cliff's fingers closed on it, but Frank tried to yank it away.

  There was an explosion. Frank tensed, grunted and fell on top of Ally, soaking her with his blood.

  "Don't nobody move!"

  Julie rolled over and tried to find the source of the voice, not caring that she was dressed only in loafers and lingerie. Two uniformed officers stood just inside the door with weapons drawn.

  "While in the bedroom I dialed 911 and left the phone off the hook so they could trace the call,” Ally breathlessly explained.

  Cliff answered Julie's unasked question as he folded her nearly nude body into his arms. “I drove down last night—actually early this morning—to try to prevent you from making a big mistake. I found your apartment about four this morning, but I didn't want to wake you. I dozed off in my truck. It looks like I woke up just in time."

  "An ambulance is on the way,” one officer said to his partner, who knelt beside Frank.

  "There's no hurry,” the second officer said, standing. He glanced first at Julie and then Ally. “Detectives will be here shortly. They may want to take you all to the station for questioning. In either case, perhaps you ladies would like to, uh, freshen up."

  Everyone was exhausted and the girls were talking nonstop. They were saying more or less what Cliff wanted to hear, but decisions were being made too fast. He glanced at the throw rug covering the bloody spot on the carpet in Julie's studio. He had offered to clean it, but Julie insisted that the apartment was soon to be remodeled anyway. There was no need to clean the spot.