The Huckleberry Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery

by Patrick F. McManus

  Lester Cline, the manager, showed them to a table. Tully watched as he spread a napkin on Etta’s lap. She ran her eyes down the menu.

  She looked up. “I’d love to go with the beef dip but I’m afraid I’d drip the jus all over me.”

  “You obviously have sophisticated tastes, Etta. I usually order the beef dip myself.” He nodded at the manager.

  “Yes, sir?” Lester said. “The usual?”

  “One for each of us, please.”

  Lester hurried off. Etta leaned across the table toward Tully. “Didn’t you just hear me say I was afraid I’d drip jus all over me?”

  “I did, indeed. Ah, here comes Lester.”

  “Already?”

  Lester came up behind Etta and tied a plastic bib around her neck. It went all the way down her front and covered her lap. For a moment, she seemed shocked. Then she burst out in a raucous laugh, much to Tully’s relief. Lester then tied a bib around Tully’s neck. Etta now laughed so hard she seemed in pain.

  Lester took a pad from his pocket. “And what dressing would you like on your salads?”

  Etta appeared incapable of speech. “Blue cheese on both, Lester,” Tully said.

  • • •

  He tried to steer their conversation over lunch in a sensible direction. Etta was eating the beef dip with appropriate gusto and had an attentive expression on her face. Then suddenly she exploded with wild laughter, holding her napkin in front of her face, struggling to maintain a certain propriety.

  “Am I correct to assume you don’t usually wear bibs at your New York restaurants?” Tully asked.

  Etta stretched the napkin like a curtain in front of her face. Her eyes peered over the top, full of tears and pain. She shook her head slowly back and forth—then broke out laughing again.

  By the time the waiter took away their bibs and plates and returned with cups of coffee and a small plate of chocolates, Etta looked as if she were headed out for trick-or-treating. Streaks of mascara ran down both cheeks, but she had finally settled into an enduring calm.

  “I hope you’re sorry,” she said.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never used a bib before.”

  “Not since I was about four years old. And don’t you dare set me off again. The other customers in here probably think I’m crazed.”

  Tully held up his hands as if claiming total innocence. “I’m sorry. I had no idea a bib would have such an effect. In any case, I have an important question I need to ask you, in all seriousness.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. When I left your place the other day, you called after me from your porch, ‘Look under the house.’ What did you mean?”

  Etta frowned. “I didn’t call after you, ‘Look under the house.’ At least I certainly don’t remember doing so. Why would I say something like that? I’ve never even seen your house.”

  “Not my house. Somebody else’s house.”

  “Somebody else’s house? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bo.”

  Tully shook his head. “Here’s the thing, Etta. It seemed to refer to a case I’ve been working on.”

  “Bo, I know nothing about your cases. If I were actually a psychic, I probably could solve all your cases for you, but I’m not. My expertise is financial counseling. I can assure you I didn’t call out anything to you.”

  “Forget I asked. Please! It was stupid of me.”

  Etta turned sober. “I will tell you something, Bo. I really don’t have answers to anything. I’m not a psychic. Not a fortune-teller. I barely know what I’ll be doing from one day to the next, let alone managing to predict the future for someone else. But occasionally an odd image will flash in my mind for no reason at all. Maybe I did blurt something out. If I did, it meant absolutely nothing.”

  Tully didn’t know what to say or do. “Etta, it isn’t important. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “I hope I haven’t ruined our lunch, Bo. By the way, please tell me this really is a date. I’m badly in need of a date.”

  “Me too. It’s definitely a date, Etta. I hope we can have another one soon.”

  “You don’t think I’m weird, Bo?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  It was a test. Etta passed. She laughed.

  11

  TULLY GOT BACK to the office in early afternoon. Lurch called to him as he came in. “Hey, boss, Susan says she’s recovered three bullets from the vics. All three are .22-caliber shorts. I’ve got a theory about that.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “I think the shooters used silencers.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The fact the bullets were .22-caliber shorts. You want to kill somebody dead, you don’t use .22 shorts. You’re trying to hold the sound down. You want to really hold it down, you use silencers.”

  Tully scratched his head. “Interesting theory, Lurch. If the shooters used silencers, we’re dealing with serious criminals. Our local boys wouldn’t know a silencer from a bass drum. Susan sending the bullets over?”

  “I told her I’d pick them up.”

  “Good. Too bad silencers don’t leave marks. We may turn some up, though. Did you get the prints on the vics?”

  “Yeah, but no matches, boss.”

  Tully headed back to his office. “Weird. I was hoping we might at least get a lead.”

  He stopped at Daisy’s desk. Without looking up she said, “I know this can’t be good. Besides, I smell a woman.”

  “You must be psychic.”

  “So, how was lunch with Etta Gorsich?”

  “Not bad. Couldn’t hold a candle to lunch with you, though.”

  Daisy checked her notepad. “I bet not. But to get back to business, Brian called. Said he wants you to meet him at three at Slade’s Bar and Grill.”

  “Pugh say why?”

  “He said it had to do with the killings up on Scotchman.”

  Tully frowned. “Slade’s is in a rough part of town.”

  “Criminals seem fond of the place. Actually, he said to meet him across the street from Slade’s.”

  “Probably wants me to watch his backside.”

  Daisy smiled. “I think the expression is ‘watch his back.’ ”

  “Is that it? I’m always getting my cop expressions mixed up.”

  • • •

  Pugh was sitting in his blue Ford pickup across the street from Slade’s. Tully drove up behind him in an unmarked department car. He walked up and climbed into the passenger seat of Pugh’s truck. “What’s the plan, Brian?”

  “There’s a hooker works out of here. Some guy beat her up pretty bad the other night. A small-time hood by the name of Jack Foley hangs out at Slade’s. Deals some drugs and has a two-bit fencing operation. I could have busted him half a dozen times, but a year in jail would seem like a resort vacation to him. He tells me there are three very serious dudes in town. Been hanging out here all summer. The other night one of them cracked Bev—that’s the hooker—up alongside the head with a pistol. Rang her bell pretty bad. The three guys have been sitting at her table about every evening they come in. I suspect Bev spouted out something she shouldn’t have, probably something she heard from one of them.”

  Tully tugged thoughtfully on the corner of his mustache. “So, what do you need me for, Brian? This looks like a place I could get seriously hurt.”

  “Yeah, it is, boss. I thought you might like to come along to keep me from killing some of the patrons.”

  “I see. Well, I suppose I could do that.”

  They got out of the pickup and walked across the street. Tully pulled his Stetson low over his eyes and peered into the darkened interior. He could make out half a dozen figures moving around in the back. He and Pugh walked in and sat down at the bar. The bartender approached, eyeing them suspiciously.

  “Two double shots of whiskey,” Tully said.

  Pugh gave Tully a look.

  Tully winked at him. “Might as well enjoy this, Brian. Besides, I n
eed something to settle my nerves.”

  The bartender brought their drinks. “Listen, fellas,” he said in a low voice. “The guys here usually don’t care for strangers dropping by. Be a good idea to finish your drinks and clear out.”

  Tully leaned across the bar and whispered, “We’re actually pretty tough. Particularly my partner here. Sometimes I have to restrain him, keep him from going too far, you know what I mean?”

  The bartender shrugged. “Just giving you some free advice.”

  Tully glanced at the group playing pool at the far end of the room. “It’s Friday afternoon,” he said. “Doesn’t anyone in here have a regular job?”

  “Yeah,” the bartender said. “Me.”

  “Is Bev around?” Pugh asked.

  “Yeah, she’s sitting at the table over in the corner. She isn’t feeling so good. A fella gave her a pretty rough time the other night and she’s closed for business. Her, uh, boyfriend is that big guy shooting pool in the back with the guys. It’s always a good idea to talk to him first, before you talk to Bev.”

  “Really,” Tully said. “Well, we don’t usually ask permission to talk to anybody, right, Bud?”

  Pugh was studying the big guy.

  “Bud!” Tully said, nudging Pugh in the ribs.

  “Oh, yeah, right.”

  They picked up their drinks and walked over to Bev’s table. She was holding an ice bag against the side of her head. As Pap might have said, she looked rode hard and put away wet.

  She peered up at them with the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “I’m out of commission, guys.”

  Tully pulled out a chair and sat down. Pugh took the chair next to him. Tully said, “We need to talk to you, Bev, about the guy who smacked you with the pistol.”

  “You better talk fast, then,” she said, “because here comes J.D.”

  A second later the huge man was looming over them. Tully and Pugh looked up at him.

  The monster said, “I guess you guys don’t know the rules, so I’ll tell you. Clear out now, before I throw you out.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Tully said, “but we were talking to the young lady.”

  “You ain’t talking to nobody! Now out!”

  Tully smiled at Pugh. “Your turn or my turn?”

  “I think it’s yours. I’ve had the last dozen. But I’ll take it, boss. Hospital?”

  “A couple days would be about right.”

  Pugh stood up. He stuck his head out around J.D. and yelled at the bartender. “You better call an ambulance. I think my friend here is having an attack of some kind.”

  The bartender stared at him. Then Tully heard two quick thumps. J.D. groaned and crumpled to the floor.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Pugh yelled at the bartender. “This man is having an attack of some kind. Get an ambulance.”

  The bartender snatched up a phone and dialed.

  Bev blinked her good eye. “Who are you guys, anyway?”

  Tully wanted to say, I’m the masked man and this is my loyal sidekick, Tonto. Instead he said, “I’m Blight County sheriff Bo Tully, and this is my deputy Brian Pugh. I could arrest you if I wanted to, Bev, but instead I’m going to put you under protective custody. We need to know everything you can remember about that guy who hit you the other night.”

  She lifted the ice bag from the bruised side of her face. “It was one of the three guys come in here two, three times a week. I said something smart to the jerk and, wham, he hits me. Knocked me right out of my chair. I woke up on the floor. When I came to, they were gone. Joey said J.D. didn’t lift a finger. I guess everybody was scared to death of them.”

  “And Joey is . . . ?” Pugh said.

  She pointed with the ice bag. “He’s the bartender. You can ask Joey about those guys, but he won’t tell you nothing. He’s as scared of them as everybody else.”

  Tully looked over at the bartender. “I think maybe he’ll talk to me, Bev. Right now Brian here is going to take you to a hospital and have you checked out. Then he’ll find you a place to stay. He’ll get you everything you need. You don’t have to worry. No one is going to hurt you anymore. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  The ambulance arrived so quickly Tully thought it must have been in the neighborhood. The medics wheeled in a stretcher, rolled J.D. onto it, and hauled him out. The big man was groaning and holding his side. Pugh helped Bev to his truck. Tully walked over to talk to the bartender. He showed him his badge.

  “Joey, do you know if J.D. ever had an attack like that before?”

  “I don’t think so. Not that I know of, anyway.”

  “You might want to search your memory.”

  “Uh, yeah, now that you mention it, I think maybe.”

  “Good. Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about the guy who hit Bev.”

  “Gee, I don’t know nothing about him. I’m the wrong person to ask.”

  Tully smiled. “It wasn’t a request, Joey. I want you to tell me every last bit of information you have about that fellow and his two friends. If you’re afraid of them, let me tell you, Joey, you’re afraid of the wrong people.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you what I know. It ain’t that much. Him and his two friends have been hanging out here all summer. Actually, I think they first showed up sometime in the spring. They come in two, three times a week. The one hit Bev is the nice one of the three. The other two are stone cold. I can’t even describe them.”

  “They been here today?”

  “No, they haven’t been back since the guy hit Bev. I hope they don’t come back. The other two seemed pretty upset with the one that hit her. I don’t think they like that kind of attention.”

  “You say they’ve been coming here since last spring?”

  “Yeah. Maybe about the beginning of May. They never caused no trouble before. They just sat and drank and talked to Bev. Even so, they scared people. I bet our business dropped by half after they started hanging out here.”

  Tully handed the bartender his card. “If any of them show up here again, Joey, give me a call.”

  Joey looked at the card. “Sure.”

  “Let me explain once again, Joey. I’m not making a request.”

  “Right, Sheriff. They show up, I’ll give you a call.”

  For the first time, Tully noticed a strange silence in the bar. He looked toward the back. All the pool players were standing there, staring at him. “Go back to your game, boys,” he called. “The entertainment is over.”

  12

  TULLY DROPPED OFF his unmarked car in the Sheriff’s Department’s garage and went up to the office. Daisy had cleaned off her desk and was getting ready to leave.

  “Any word from Pugh?” he asked.

  “Yeah, he called from the hospital. He said the guy who had the attack at Slade’s apparently had a kidney problem. They’re going to run some tests.”

  “Good. I hope they’re all painful. Anything else?”

  “Yes, come to think of it. Your fortune-teller called and asked that you get in touch.”

  Tully grimaced. “First of all, Daisy, Etta Gorsich is not a fortune-teller. Second, she isn’t mine.”

  “If you say so, boss.”

  Tully stood there and glared as Daisy picked up her purse and strode out the door, her high heels clicking smartly on the marble-chip floor. Then he shrugged. By Monday he would be able to think up a good response. He would call Etta tomorrow.

  He gulped down a hamburger and a beer in Crabbs Lounge and then drove over to the hospital. The cute redheaded nurse was working the admissions desk, but there was a line of people waiting for her attention. He sat down in the waiting room to give the line time to shorten. A drunk was at that moment pleading for her attention. She frowned sternly at him and pointed toward the waiting room. Tully grabbed up a magazine and pretended to read. He knew the drunk would head directly for him. He was a magnet for drunks. The guy sat down beside him. He looked and smelled as if he had been living in a Dumpster for the
past month.

  “I got beat up,” he told Tully.

  “That right?” Tully didn’t look up from his magazine. He noticed he was staring at an ad on the latest weight-loss miracle.

  “Yeah,” the drunk said. “My brother did it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, my own brother. Can you believe that?”

  Tully detected that the fellow hadn’t been near bathwater in perhaps a year. He thought maybe his eyes were starting to water, because the weight-loss ad had blurred. He lowered the magazine and looked over at the nurse. A city cop was talking to her. The redhead pointed at the drunk. The cop turned and looked. He was a big guy, with a nose that had been broken too many times and multiple scars scattered about his face. His name was Tim Doyle and he worked the neighborhood that surrounded Slade’s. He walked over and said hello to Tully. Then he spoke to the drunk. “You’re coming with me, Willy.”

  “How come, Tim?” Willy said. “I didn’t do nothing.”

  “You called in a complaint that Lyle assaulted you. Now I want you to come with me to hunt down Lyle. You make a complaint, we have to follow up on it.”

  “Okay.” The drunk pushed himself up out of the chair.

  Relieved, Tully lowered his magazine. “How’s it going, Tim?”

  “Same ol’, same ol’, Bo. Bet you’re here to check out Scarlett.”

  “If by any chance you mean that lovely redheaded nurse over there, Tim, nothing could be further from my mind. What I really like is to stop by for conversations with people like Willy here.”

  “I bet. Well, Willy’s all right. Come on, Willy.”

  Tully watched them. As the cop and Willy walked by the admissions desk, Scarlett called out, “Take care of yourself, Willy! You too, Tim!”

  Willy beamed at her.

  Tim shook his head. “He’s going to be riding around with me the rest of the night, Scarlett.”

  The admittance line had disappeared for the moment. Tully got up and walked over. Odd, he thought. They’re like some strange underground family here, cop, nurse, drunk, people who see one another almost every day. It’s as if they look out for one another.

  Scarlett glanced up. “You have to be Sheriff Bo Tully. I’m Scarlett O’Ryan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”