[Benny James 01.0] Birdsongs

by Jason Deas

  Her presence and perfume lingered like a ghost. Echoing what she said, he needed this. Since Jane left he had only had sex once, but he had not made love until last night. The emotionless screw resulted in the addition of a cardinal rule he promised himself to never break again. The rule was—never get a haircut when you’re drunk.

  Benny had been drinking with Vernon one slow afternoon at Renée’s and realized he was in no condition to drive home when Vernon’s wife called and summoned him home. Benny took a final shot, finished his beer and decided to go see Michelle for a haircut. Next thing he knew, the door to the Hair Palace was locked, the closed sign was in the window, and the blinds were drawn. He was naked in the barber’s chair and Michelle was doing the spider with him, her breasts in his mouth. Gawking into the mirror-lined room, Benny felt like he was watching a porno inside of a porno and he was the star. He never did get his haircut that day.

  The night before was different. Aside from the animal nature of the deed, there was also emotion, tenderness, and a longing between the two lovers to continue the chase.

  Chapter 33

  Once upon a time, Ray Clint, who people called R.C., simply went by Ray. But, that was years ago. His father, who named him, was a stoic man with little or nothing to say. World War II did something irreversible to Mr. Boyd’s soul. A year after his return from the war, Ray was born and Mr. Boyd’s soul attempted to heal. His wife was ill-prepared to be a mother and before reaching the point of going crazy, Mrs. Boyd left a simple note one early morning saying she was sorry and afraid if she stayed any longer she would harm the baby or herself. They never saw her again and Mr. Boyd’s soul ceased its recovery effort.

  Before the boom their hometown of Las Vegas was the bud on a flower. Soon it became a rose. Mr. Boyd made the perfect blackjack dealer as emotion and words were not his strengths. Ray grew up knowing the ins and outs of the casinos and the power of money. Cards to him were second nature and at a young age he became adept at counting them and instinctively knowing the probability of what cards remained in the deck and how the cards previously dealt affected the odds. His father, being rather uninvolved in his life, never knew he learned some nasty habits. R.C. bet money that he did not have. However, it seemed the contents of his pockets contained a genie in a bottle with unlimited wishes, three rabbit’s feet, a horseshoe he occasionally threw over his shoulder, and a lucky penny. His luck gave the Midas touch a run for its money.

  One afternoon during his eighteenth year, he played in a card game with a few men in a seedy motel on the outskirts of the blossoming strip. The men were two, three, and four times his age. R.C. usually took his opponents to the cleaners but his luck ran out. He was on a tear that particular day, raking in the money and feeling bullet proof. Hand after hand, Lady Luck dealt the cards. The other men, wanting to get their money back upped the wagers. Feeling like he could not possibly lose, R.C. tossed into the final pot the keys to his Trans Am, which was parked outside. The men had commented earlier on what a beauty she was. He lost the hand and when asked for the title to the car, R.C. sheepishly broke the news that he did not possess the title, as he was only a year into the loan payments. The gentleman to whom he owed the money knew nothing of patience. He gave R.C. two weeks to produce the money. He told R.C. if he was unable to pay up on the allotted date, he was a dead man.

  The next day R.C. joined the marines. He begged for an immediate enlistment. His wish was granted. Running from trouble, he found more. There was a lot of downtime in the barracks in Vietnam and R.C. had a few packs of cards. Once again, at the beginning of his run, his luck was impeccable. He based his bets once again on collateral that was not in his possession. History repeated itself, as it oftentimes does, his luck ran dry. The jarhead Miles, to whom he owed the money, was already suspected of a friendly fire incident. Most considered it not to be an accident and R.C. feared for his life. Near the peak of his worrying he made a deal with Miles.

  One morning, R.C. was on watch working a large perimeter around the temporary barracks when a bullet grazed his arm just below his shoulder. His anger, mixed with fear outweighed and trumped the pain. Blood ran down his arm as the wound pounded and burned. He turned around to see Miles smiling, still pointing the gun, this time at the center of his chest.

  “Pretty good shot, wasn’t it?”

  “You could have killed me!”

  “If I wanted to kill you, I would have.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because you owe me money. You shouldn’t make bets with money you don’t have.”

  “I’m sorry,” R.C. said holding a bandana tight against the bleeding.

  “Sorry isn’t going to cut it. You’re going to help me with a little plan that I’ve been working on. If you don’t, the next time I will kill you. You with me?”

  “Yes,” R.C. said hesitantly. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “No, you sure don’t,” Miles laughed. “Now,” he said, pausing for effect, “I want to take some of these chink guns home. I had a guy tell me before I left that he’d pay big money for some of their guns and some of ours. Not the kind of thing you can buy at the store on the corner, y‘know?”

  “How do you propose we get them home?” R.C. asked.

  “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take care of that part. All you need to do is collect. Have you seen the half blown up truck behind my barracks?” R.C. nodded. “I want ten of each. Ten from the gooks and ten from our troops. Put them in the back of the truck under the blue tarp.” R.C. nodded again. “Now go clean up your fucking arm.”

  R.C. played buddy buddy with Miles, until he ratted him out to the military police who threw him in the brig. The last R.C. heard about Miles he was awaiting his trial. Little did R.C. know he would see Miles again.

  Chapter 34

  Jerry Lee rifled through his desk in search of Rachael’s number. He found it as his sweat splashed on the desk’s surface. The phone almost rang one complete time when she said, “Hello Jerry Lee.”

  “How in the blue oyster cult did you know it was me?”

  “Did caller ID skip the town of Tilley?” Rachael said, mentally acknowledging the fact this was the second time this situation had arisen since her arrival in town.

  “No, I just didn’t expect you to know my number,” he laughed.

  “I don’t. Since I programmed your number in my database, it said Jerry Lee on the display when it rang.”

  “You big city folks are something else,” Jerry Lee shook his head. “I know you’re probably busy but I just wanted to call real quick and thank you for getting my column linked to your network’s website.”

  “No problem. Your column this morning was brilliant. It was kind of like a journalistic short story. You have a gripping narrative voice.”

  “Wow! That means a lot to me, coming from you. Gee thanks.”

  “Let me ask you Jerry Lee,” Rachael put down the notes she was looking over. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. The Tilley Bee is a good paper and they’re lucky to have you, but your talent exceeds this little town and you could easily land yourself a job with a bigger paper. More money, more exposure…”

  “I have all the money I need,” Jerry Lee said. “A bigger audience would be nice, but I like it here. Living in Tilley is kind of like living on a remote island. The rest of the world we know is out there but we stay over here and they stay over there.”

  “Sounds tempting,” Rachael answered thoughtfully. “Call me if you hear anything and I’ll do the same.”

  “OK, Rachael. Thanks again.” Jerry Lee stared at the phone for a long moment.

  Chapter 35

  Benny and Vernon decided to split up for the day. Benny would investigate the claims made by Danny Hill’s mother and Vernon would try to make contact with some of the late Ryan Mableton’s co-workers.

  Vernon hustled on over to Farrah’s apartment, the devastated fiancée, in search of Ryan’s boss’s number. Since the last t
ime he had seen her she had lost weight, developed rings under her eyes, and he swore he could see time ticking in her movements. Farrah’s voice gave away the fact she was done, had mailed it in; the rope’s end was in sight. Her apartment’s appearance gave Vernon a shiver and an ache stabbed at his heart. The windows of the apartment were covered with a grungy, heavy material that reminded Vernon of horses and barns. The room was a strange and eerie dark, like a mid-day thunderstorm. The apocalypse will begin with this color, Vernon thought.

  The quiet, which held the room hostage, was sucking the life out of the air and Vernon felt if he spoke, his voice might echo in the hollowness. From the look in Farrah’s eyes, her soul was much the same, or worse. Two days later the pain was too great for Farrah and she relieved herself from her thoughts and covered the black room a deep red with seemingly infinite pieces of her tortured mind. If she had lived another day and been privy to the information that Vernon was about to uncover, she would have died from shock at any rate.

  Vernon’s inquiries led to his hypothesis that Ryan Mableton was a super lover of the flesh. Sodom and Gomorra, if it were possible, would have asked him for a few pointers. He was a hard worker, no pun intended. Although Ryan did not work twelve-hour days like he had Farrah believe. He worked ten and he was the leader of a club in the other two. It was an underground deal one could find out about through a guy who knew a guy that knew a guy. Similar to fight club, people got hurt.

  Melding the various stories, none of which Vernon believed to be gospel, he formulated a picture of an easily and usually aroused fellow who had an insatiable sex drive. Ryan had the unlucky fortune of taking to bed a girl who had a jealous admirer. Ryan told her admirer upon confrontation he was just in it for the vertical smile and there wasn’t any emotion attached to the deed. Ryan could tell his answer did not satisfy the man who came from nowhere. The mystery man said he’d be watching, shot him a bird, and disappeared once again into the night.

  Unbeknownst to Vernon at this early point in the investigation, the jilted coveter arranged for Ryan to be at the house the night of the murder. He left in Ryan’s van a picture, which was not him and a note saying it was. The rock in Ryan’s pants did the rest as expected. The killer’s thought process came from the school of, if I can’t have it, you can’t either. The crucifixion he employed came from Madonna’s school of shock your audience. The binoculars were a game and the bird was icing on the cake. It was a part of the game and just like someone giving you the finger, shooting or flicking you the bird, it meant screw you.

  Chapter 36

  Danny’s mom was waiting on the front porch with sweet tea. Nodding and without speaking a word, Benny took the glass meant for him and began to swing next to Ms. Hill, their hips touching, in silence. They swung, each hearing their own private and meaningful music of thoughts. A peaceful chord reverberated between the two.

  “He knew the killer,” Ms. Hill eventually said.

  “How do you know?” Benny asked.

  “Songs.”

  “Songs?”

  “Songs,” Ms. Hill said. “I was going through his bedroom and reading through some of his notebooks he wrote his songs in, and I listened to a bunch of his recordings. I found one tape and notebook in particular I think you will be quite interested in. Danny had three different songs about becoming famous. In his notebooks he always dated all of his songs and the three were all written within the last month. The song he wrote the night before his death was centered on a midnight meeting in which he would audition and showcase his talents for a mysterious man from a record company. He titled it Poor Man’s Last Midnight.” Ms. Hill sighed. “Little did he know it was his last midnight.”

  “Pretty ironic,” Benny added, sipping his tea and patting Ms. Hill on the knee as he would his own mother were she alive. “Do you mind if I take those notebooks and tapes with me for a couple of days?”

  “Not at all,” Ms. Hill answered. “I already have them in a bag for you in the kitchen. Do you think you’ll catch this guy, Benny?”

  “I will,” Benny said confidently. “It just takes a little time. Time to put all the pieces together and time for him to make a mistake.”

  “Do you think he’s still in town?”

  “He is. I’m sure of it. Probably looking for his next victim.”

  “You think he’ll kill again?” Ms. Hill’s eyes went wide.

  “Absolutely,” Benny quickly answered. “I see some weeds under your oak there and peeping out of the cracks of the walkway,” Benny pointed towards the yard. He stopped the swing with his foot and put his glass of tea down. “Let’s go take care of those. Danny wouldn’t have that.”

  “OK, Mr. James,” Ms. Hill said with a smile. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 37

  Benny had been wrestling with the idea of bringing up Red with Rachael. For some reason he felt responsible for Red, like a father figure. He felt as if he could trust Rachael as a woman but Benny wondered if Red’s story would be too juicy for her to resist as a journalist. Benny decided his opinion of Rachael teetered on her response to the situation he was going to present to her.

  As busy as Benny was, he rarely took his boat out of the marina. He invited Rachael for a picnic to his favorite island and Jimmy Buffett filled the background as the two sped through the evening air as fast as the big lug would go. The massive boat bounced in a wake and Benny laughed deeply as he watched Rachael bouncing in all the right ways.

  Settled on the island, Benny was curt. “Can I talk to you off the record?”

  Insulted, Rachael said, “My personal dealings with you are strictly and completely off the record.”

  “OK,” Benny said shaking off his rough start apologetically. “What I meant was I wanted to tell you a secret.”

  “Oh?” Rachael played with her sweet Mississippi drawl.

  “Do you remember the Baker Foods baby?”

  “Benny,” Rachael sighed. “That story was in just about every journalism textbook I owned in college.”

  “I think the missing Baker baby is living in my house right now.” Benny mused as Rachael’s face melted in misunderstanding and disbelief.

  Benny explained the tale step by step. Rachael listened and was spellbound by the unlikely events and coincidences. Without hesitation, she asked Benny, “Where was the newspaper from that he showed you?”

  “I didn’t look,” Benny said as he felt a rare embarrassment from the overlooked detail.

  “We need to find out where the paper comes from and see what the town folks know about a boy named Red.”

  “You’re part detective,” Benny winked with his comment as he digested the new information sluggishly.

  “I’m mostly detective, Mr. James,” Rachael said with a wink of her own and a sassy smile.

  Chapter 38

  Benny had investigated and dealt with sizeable companies in the past but he had never dealt with a giant the likes of Baker Foods. He spent a few minutes shy of an hour looking through all of their various phone numbers in the phone book and on the Internet. They had countless departments, regions, and offices around the country. Benny wrote down six numbers he believed to be possible avenues to the top. A man whose mental capacities Benny thought subpar answered his first call. Benny decided the main headquarters, which would house the senior Baker, would not have such an incompetent boob answering the phone. He crossed it off his list. Defying Murphy’s Law, Benny acquired his lead from his second call.

  The lady’s voice who answered shot a picture of the principal’s secretary in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off straight to Benny’s brain. She was audibly speed-chewing and smacking her gum.

  “Baker Foods,” she said as she converted a three-syllable word into five.

  “Good morning ma’am,” Benny said with apprehension. “My name is Benny James. How are you this morning?”

  “I haven’t quit yet,” she quipped with a giggle.

  “I’ve got a weird one for you this morning,” Benny cau
tioned.

  “Try me,” she said losing the giggle.

  “Are you still looking for the Baker baby?”

  “We haven’t had one of these calls in a while,” she said, with a here we go again attitude.

  “I get the feeling that I’m not the first person to claim that he has solved this missing person riddle.”

  “Nope,” she said. “And I am afraid and know too well that you won’t be the last.”

  “Does your company have a procedure in place that will provide me with an opportunity to substantiate my claim?”

  “Thanks to the thousands of calls in the last twenty five years we do. Would you like that number?”

  “Please.”

  She gave him the number that was well memorized and then hung up the phone without giving it another thought.

  Benny dialed the number and another gem of a human answered. She was mailing Benny one half of a paternity test that he would need to collect a sample for and mail back. It was no charge as was the senior Baker’s policy. He had spent a small fortune looking for his son. All Benny had to do now to solve the mystery of Red was to wait for the mail, or so he thought.

  Chapter 39

  Chief Asshole summoned Vernon and Benny to a meeting. He was, technically, Benny’s boss at the moment. Chuckie was wearing a sweat suit for some reason and keeping with his outfit’s name, he was sweating rockets.

  Benny decided to hold his tongue for a few moments and let the other two men set the tone of the meeting.

  Vernon spoke first. “You did a great job in the interview Chuck.”