Blood Remembered

by Douglas Pratt

  I am often amazed how little choice sometimes has to do with the final outcome. I made my choice, and it was probably not the wisest of choices. I made my choice quickly, and I was most definitely listening to the voice of Saint Augustine.

  But instead chance moved in to alter my choice. The voices in my pants were suddenly joined by a chorus. The chorus turned out to be the ringing of my cell phone from my pants pocket. The initial ring caused everything, including my heart, to freeze. Mandy looked at me with eyes pleading me to not answer its ring.

  "It might be important," I said as I tried to pull it free.

  It was Austin calling to tell me that he had found our elusive Steve Reynolds.

  "Wanna meet me for a drink?" Austin asked.

  "Where are you?"

  "I'll be in Hellenston in about twenty minutes."

  I looked at Mandy, who had loosened the top two buttons of her own shirt. A green bra peeked from beneath, and I was feeling the waves of temptation pounding into me.

  "Can we get a rain check? Until I get back, at least?" I was almost ready to beg. "Austin may have found someone to tie the puzzle together.”

  She slid her hand down my chest, and I was compelled to tell Austin to wait until tomorrow. I made a decision, albeit not a very strong one, to meet Austin. The voice in my head had apparently won out over its southern foe. I was sure though that I would hear some complaints later from down south.

  I agreed to meet Austin in half an hour at Berry's, a local tavern. I pulled myself away from a beautiful woman who obviously wanted to have sex with me. I don't know what had come over me. It just seemed unnatural. I might be breaking some unwritten rule. After tonight, I might have to write it down.

  I felt a mixture of ecstasy, relief, and regret as I climbed into the car. I skipped through the CD changer until the voice of Billie Holiday brought my car alive. Billie sang to me about how it was "a nice job if you can get it."

  "If you can get it, won't you tell me how" I sang along.

  35

  I let the top down on the BMW. The stars glistened above me as I pulled out of the parking lot of the Prior's Bay Marina. The moon began to peer over the trees as I jetted along the highway. The evening air was cool as I rushed through the night.

  I considered calling Lisa, but I felt a bit guilty. I also decided I needed to steer clear of women for at least an hour. I can't stay away much longer from women or I would begin to experience some serious DT's.

  I had a lot on my mind. Some things were knotted and tangled so that I could make neither heads nor tails of them. Mark Lofton had clearly been playing with fire. He had stolen some money, a good deal of money, from a local gangster. However, Paul Grace was dead now. He was a plausible suspect, but the elaborate set-up doesn't seem very Mafioso. Not that I had any idea what actually was Mafioso.

  Still, everything looked like it was set up. Mark Lofton had been at Mandy's house for a reason. He might have been there to simply see Mandy, or perhaps he had hidden the money, or at least some of it, there. It would be the least obvious. Mandy would want nothing to do with Mark after he dumped her for Leigh Rozen. He could have hidden the money there without her knowing, and then he could come back for it later. He probably knew the house as well, or at least well enough, to stash something there that Mandy might not find in the near future.

  Perhaps his new wife followed him there, or even tagged along. She could have done Mark in and then taken the money. Leaving Mandy to hold the bag might have been the extra poetic justice Leigh would want.

  Maybe Leigh had played Mark all along before she killed him. Then her death could have simply been Paul Grace or Jeff Thomas settling the score for good.

  I pulled into the parking lot in front of Berry's. Berry's had changed names few times since I was a kid, but the bar had continued to numb the populous of Hellenston for years. It was a cross between a bar and a stable. The back of the bar had a dirt floor for local two-steppers to cut a rug, or perhaps I should say kick up some dust. On the front of the building was a large painted sign next to the front door boasting a Pabst logo.

  Something clicked in my head. Jeff Thomas seemed an extremely likely candidate. He might have been able to manipulate Leigh and then kill her. He could have even killed Paul Grace to buy some time. If Jeff Thomas had the missing money then he was certain to be on the first plane to the least extraditable country in the western hemisphere.

  I parked the BMW to the side near a red Ford Ranger. I put the top back up and secured it before I got out.

  I began to walk toward the entrance when a figure stepped out from behind an old Chevrolet Blazer just to my left. I felt a vibe of trouble shimmy up my spine like a bear up a tree. I turned my head slowly to see Billy Daniels scowling at me. I glanced around to see if his friends were tagging along. They were nowhere to be seen.

  "Ain't this a treat," Billy moved closer. "Sawyer, you came along at just the right time."

  I looked around the lot. The music from inside the bar filtered outside, but there was not another soul in the parking lot.

  I nodded to Billy, "You're right. There's no one here to see you take a beating."

  "You think you are so smart," he sneered.

  "Billy, Billy, Billy...It's not about how smart I am; it's about how stupid you are."

  "Boy, I think you might want to leave. This is my bar."

  I shook my head, "Billy, I thought you might have learned a few things. I guess the only thing they taught you inside was how to hold your ankles."

  Billy growled and moved in to strike. I took a deep breath and tried to focus. It took at least a second for Billy to throw a punch. It was a slow-moving swing that I blocked and followed with a quick jab to his nose.

  Billy stumbled back, and I quickly stepped forward and repeated the jab to his nose. Billy spun away and shook his head. Blood slung from his face. He weaved toward me and charged.

  I side stepped him and tagged him his left cheek with a thrust from my right fist. He wavered as he struggled to keep his balance. I dropped my weight onto my right foot as my left foot rocketed into his gut. He grunted and collapsed to the ground.

  I walked around him like a shark around a wounded seal. I wanted to kick him again, but I slowed the rage pounding through my heart.

  Billy moved as he tried to get back to his feet. I knelt down and pushed him back to the ground.

  "Boy," I said, "I think you might want to leave. This is now my bar."

  Blood had pooled underneath his face. He looked up at me and released a spattering of curses.

  I smiled and pointed to his nose, "I think you might be bleeding."

  He spat at me, and I stood up and walked away.

  "Sawyer," he gurgled through the blood dripping down his face, "I swear..."

  I didn't care anymore. I kept walking toward the entrance of the bar. I saw Austin standing next to the door.

  "I was waiting to see if you needed any assistance," Austin quipped.

  "It was only a small domestic spat," I remarked.

  "Yeah, I saw it."

  I smiled, "It was just a little problem I have been having since I came into town."

  Austin shook my hand, "Looks like you need a beer."

  "No, I need a shot of whiskey. Actually about six shots of whiskey."

  We walked into the bar. The inside was anything but elegant. There was a long bar with some dingy mirrors and nearly a twenty different neon beer signs illuminating the room with a reddish glow. There was an old jukebox in the corner and a pool table to the side with a group of locals surrounding it. Almost every one of them was wearing a cowboy hat. The bar was fairly busy for a Monday night.

  We found a couple of stools at the bar, and the bartender ambled over to us. He was in his early fifties, and he had obviously been doing this kind of work for too long. His face wore deep wrinkles, no doubt from years of late hours and imbibing his own products. He wore a shirt touting Skyy Vodka in addition to a variety of beer stains.
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  "What can I get you two?" he asked.

  "I'll take a Bud Lite," Austin blurted.

  The bartender looked at me. "Maker's Mark, please," I said.

  "How do you want that?" he asked me.

  "Straight, in a shot glass. In fact, bring three. It will save you a couple of trips."

  Austin looked at me, "You looking to do some damage?"

  "No, that should just about get me started."

  The bartender quickly returned with the beer and three shots. I paid him for the round and left a generous tip.

  "Thank you," he said when he saw my tip. I lifted one of the shots to him before pouring it down my throat. Austin, likewise, guzzled his beer.

  "Steve Reynolds," I said, "You found him?"

  Austin swallowed his beer, "Yeah, he was a bit of a squirrel. Seems he met Mark through the strip club. He was a regular, and apparently he had sent off to this online church to become an ordained minister."

  I nodded as he continued, "He told me that Mark had approached him and wanted a very discreet wedding."

  I slugged the second shot and asked, "Why was he so skittish on the phone?"

  "He said that he was afraid that it had been illegal. That the girl on the phone was with the state. Who was the girl?"

  I smiled, "Lisa Day has involved herself with me and this murder. She was pulling the state clerk routine to see who would bite."

  "Lisa, huh? Yeah, she runs the paper here."

  "She's pretty quick too."

  Austin looked off toward the jukebox that was belting out some Alan Jackson tune. He took a long drink and finished his bottle of beer. I gulped my last shot of bourbon.

  "Did Steve Reynolds know anything about mark and Leigh's relationship?" I asked.

  "No, he said he never even met Leigh Rozen until the ceremony."

  "Great," I sighed, "that doesn't help either."

  I turned to the bartender and ordered another round for us. He returned twice as quickly with our order. I paid and tipped him again.

  "Who do you think did it?" Austin asked.

  "I don't know. I think I have enough circumstantial evidence that

  Mandy might get acquitted, but I don't have anything hard."

  "Did you hear about Paul Grace?" Austin asked.

  I nodded and said, "Yeah, it was awfully convenient. I'm not sure, though. He was involved with who knows. His was a dangerous business."

  I had reached into my pocket and began fiddling with my lighter on the bar. Austin turned his beer up and was quickly draining it. I followed suit and quickly slammed down the first two shots.

  "I don't know what Mark was doing there, though. At Mandy's house."

  "Mark was a piece of work," Austin sighed, "I never really liked him. Didn't trust him very much."

  "Really, did you tell Mandy about it?"

  "Yeah, but I just felt like he was always up to something. I had the feeling like he was trying too hard. I guess it's just hard to explain."

  I listened for a minute before I replied. "It just feels staged. The whole murder feels staged to point at Mandy. Like someone lined all the dominoes up and let them lead to Mandy."

  "True," Austin said, "if Mandy didn't let him in how did he get there. Wasn't he naked? That doesn't make much sense either."

  "No, Mandy said that he was already there and dead when she got there. Either the killer stripped him after he was shot, which is doubtful, or the killer got him to strip and then killed him."

  "Where were his clothes?" Austin asked.

  "I don't know."

  "We should find out how they were found. It would show his state of mind."

  I was struck by his epiphany, "So, if they were just thrown about then it might have been a moment of passion."

  "Exactly."

  Austin brought up a valid point. I would have to research it tomorrow. We talked about a few more things of very little importance. We finished our drinks and decided to call it a night. Austin agreed to meet Mandy and me at the courthouse in the morning.

  36

  By 10:15 p.m., I had safely made it back to the boat. I wondered if Mandy had already fallen asleep. I boarded my floating abode to find Mandy not asleep. She was, however, waiting in bed for me wearing pretty much just the bed sheet.

  Apparently, six shots of Makers Mark had distracted my conscience’s voice. I was bombarded with numerous thoughts, some totally incoherent, and some way too clear.

  Her eyes told me that she had been waiting for me, which seemed pretty obvious since I was the only one living here. I moved toward the bed with slightly more trepidation than when I had faced Billy Daniels earlier. Naked women tend to throw my focus for a loop, and when she slid the sheet past her breasts and reached for me I could have sworn that I blacked out.

  I didn't actually black out, but once I had fallen asleep, I was completely out. I think I was as unconscious as was humanly possible before being comatose. Whether it was the lack of sleep the night before, the six shots of bourbon, or the strenuous workout I just received, I am not sure, but I slept like a rock.

  Morning broke much earlier than I would have liked, but I still awoke refreshed. Mandy lay next to me. The sun glistened through the blinds leaving a pattern of lines on her nude back. Her brown hair was ruffled, and the blonde highlights shimmered like gold in the sun.

  I decided to slip into the shower. The clock read 6:45 a.m. I could shower and dress before getting Mandy up to go to Charlie Nichols’ office.

  Mandy didn't have to be in court until 9 a.m., and I wanted Charlie to have all the facts that I had before he went into the courtroom. Perhaps, I hoped, he could get a quick dismissal.

  I got into the shower and let the warm water wash over me. I soaped up and rinsed myself quickly. I shut the water off, and the small bathroom was filled with steam. I toweled myself dry and walked out of the bathroom.

  Mandy was already awake and dressing. She put on a conservative black suit that I had gotten from her place. She didn't seem nervous about another day in court. Hopefully, I had put some fears to rest with some of the clues I had found.

  I dressed in black Kenneth Cole shirt with French cuffs and black Ralph Lauren pants. I put on some gold cufflinks and a pair of black Rockports. I grabbed my phone and my handy pocket tools.

  Mandy was ready to go. She started out the door, and I was about to follow. I saw my gun lying on the table. I opted to leave it there since I might be going to the courthouse.

  It was almost 7:30 a.m. when we left the marina. We had barely spoken to each other this morning, and outside of a quick kiss when I got out of the shower, one might not have known that we had spent the night together.

  The drive, like the rest of the morning, was quiet. Mandy stared off into an abyss that I could only assume were the dreaded thoughts of "what-ifs." It only took ten minutes to get to Main Street. I found a safe parking spot at least 20 feet from anything that might give Scott's boys a chance to ticket me.

  "You okay?" I asked.

  "Yeah," she said with a half smile, "just nervous."

  "Don't worry this is merely a preliminary hearing. Hopefully, the information I've got will help Charlie to get the whole thing dismissed. Don't hold your breath just yet. Everything I've got is circumstantial, but we might still be able to find something concrete."

  "Thanks, Max."

  "Mandy, we do need to figure out what Mark was doing at your place."

  "I don't know. I just don't know."

  I touched her hand, "Don't worry. Now, if we suppose that he was there to retrieve the money, where do you think he might have hidden it?"

  "I don't know," she almost whimpered, "there are a lot of places to hide something. But I think I would have found it. Besides, why would he hide it at my house?"

  "He might have needed someplace that no one would know about."

  "The old shack," she said.

  "The old shack?"

  "Remember, the one back up the mountain."

&n
bsp; I did remember the old shack. It was an ancient run down mountain shack about a mile from Mandy's house. It had been a great spot, it was extremely secluded. It seemed like a long hike to stash the money, but if there was a lot of money that needed to be hidden, it might make a good place.

  Mandy added, "Mark and I used to hike up there a lot."

  I nodded, "Let's go inside. I may go check it out once I leave you with Charlie."

  We walked into Charlie's office. Charlie was sitting behind his desk looking more nervous than Mandy. I tried to smile, but he was almost trembling.

  "How are you?" I asked slowly.

  "Fine," he said curtly.

  I looked at Mandy and said, "Could you give me a minute, Mandy?" She had a curious look, but she agreed and stepped into the other office. I waited until she shut the door. I looked over at Charlie

  Nichols who looked like he was waiting for the ax to fall.

  "Charlie, I am sorry about yesterday. I was a bit...abrupt, but I am determined to keep what we said between us."

  "Thank you, Mr. Sawyer."

  "Max," I said. "I had already spoken with Tom before I talked with you. After our conversation yesterday, I went back to him, and he won't spill a word of it."

  Charlie nodded with some assurance. Anyone who knew Tom knew that his word was as good as gold.

  "Now, I have discovered some interesting details that might well help this case."

  Charlie, who seemed to have calmed down, said, "Really, such as?"

  I walked over to the other office and told Mandy that she could come back. Once she and I had seated ourselves opposite Charlie, I started.

  "There are still a few details that I don't have, and Mandy is still a bit foggy about a few."

  "What have you got?" Charlie was interested.

  I described in detail the events of the past few days beginning with Mark Lofton's career at J.T.'s Club and his unusual and fast nuptials. I finished with the details of the stolen money that amounted to an unknown figure.

  "What evidence do you have?" Charlie asked.