by Carey Lewis
She looked at Deacon, the Chimichonga in front of him, the cheese bubbling. He finally said, “If it wasn’t a movie, that means it was real Brooke.”
“Or they fake it to blackmail you.”
He looked at her then. She saw his face, the strain on it.
“So go to the cops.”
“And say what, they tricked me into killing people?”
Now Brooke was quiet, thinking. She really wanted it to be a hoax. Someone pulling his leg. It was all faked. She pictured Cesar smiling at her, the feeling she got from him.
“How come we haven’t heard anything?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“About the bodies. No one’s talking about it.”
“I haven’t been watching the news.”
“Ma Bell would’ve heard. Would’ve asked you.”
“She doesn’t want to know. She saw my clothes that night.”
“They say how much they want?”
Deacon shook his head.
“So you tell them to fuck off or you pay them what they want.”
“What would you do?” Deacon asked, looking at her now with those sad eyes. It was eating away at him.
“I’d tell them to fuck off. If it’s real they want money, what do they get by turning you in?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she had her answer. If it was real, they’d get Deacon doing the murder and they’d be clear. She didn’t tell him that. She could picture it, Cesar telling the cops they just went to buy Mr. Hollywood some dope and he went crazy.
“What did you get yourself into Deke?” she said, the words coming out by accident.
“I can’t pay them,” he said. Then he told her about the Campbells, about their money being locked up for a month, about Harvey trying to dig out of a hole he put them in.
“So what’re we going to do?” The ‘we’ part slipped out. It was involuntary. She was used to being a team with Deacon, part of him. The two of them a single unit.
“They’re expecting me to get off a plane at five. They think I’m coming from Philly.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Guess I have to pretend I’m getting off a plane at five.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“HUEY? HUEY WAKE UP DEAR.”
Huey opened his eyes to see his mother poking her head in the doorway. He could see the plastic bag on her head she used for dying her hair. Like it was natural a woman in her sixties was going to have bright red hair.
“Someone’s here to see you,” she said.
“What time is it?”
“It’s a United States Marshal,” she said, closing the door behind her.
That woke him. He bolted upright in the bed, searching back in his mind. He had some bags he didn’t sell last night. He started to panic, wondering where he left the blue bag. There in the corner on top of a chest he inherited from some long dead relative. He grabbed the bag then dove across the clothes and paper plates on the floor to throw it under the bed, stuffing it under as best he could, arranging the boxes and dirty dishes so it was hidden.
He spun around to sit on the bed, staring at the door, trying to remember everything. He could really use a joint to calm his nerves. He didn’t have much cash on him, not enough to make anyone question it. From what he made for Cesar, he had to pay for his phone to get fixed, cabs to and from places. When there was no more selling to be had, he called Jeff and told him he needed a ride. Jeff charged him eighty bucks for it.
There was a knock and his mom stuck her head in again. “Huey, you’re being rude.” She closed the door again.
He jumped to the other side of the bed and opened the window. Reached between the bed and the wall and pulled out a joint. He lit it and took a few puffs, blowing the smoke out the window. There was a Marshal in his house but he needed to get calm - no way a Marshal was going to pinch him for smoking a joint in his own home.
Huey butted the joint out, already feeling better, and went out to the living room. His mom kept it neat and tidy, dusting and spraying all the damn ornaments of birds and horses every weekend. She did it so much, Huey would be surprised if any dust was able to stick to them still.
His mom sat on the checkered couch beside the man under the window, trying to flirt with her head wrapped up in a shopping bag with red dye all over it. The man stood, his plaid shirt tucked into his jeans. He put his hands on his hips, showing the star and gun as he said he was US Marshal Carter Grant.
His mom giggled as she walked out of the room, told US Marshal Carter Grant not to leave before saying goodbye. He motioned Huey to sit in the chair beside the couch, like Huey was the guest.
“Where’s Randy?” he asked. Huey barely got his ass on the cushion before he started.
“How would I know?”
“You two were friends right?”
“He got pinched and ran off. It’s all I know.”
“Cesar told you that huh?”
“He’s the one went and picked him up.”
“I stopped by his granny’s house looking for him. Thought maybe he’d swung by. He didn’t. She was out of her medication. I had to take her. Got an appointment in a couple days she doesn’t know how she’s getting to.”
“That was nice of you.”
Carter watched Huey. “Late night?”
“Down at Myrtle,” Huey said.
“What were you doing down there?”
“What everyone tries to do down there.”
Carter smiled. “Figure you’d be fifteen years past that.”
“I’m only thirty-two.”
“What I heard puts you at thirty-five. Mom said you were thirty-five. You forget your own birthday Huey?”
He was trying to think, do the math. Wondered where the Marshal was going with this.
“The shit Cesar’s got you doing, you’re so stressed you can’t even remember when you were born. Maybe that smell coming off you has something to do with it. Probably going to tell me it was people you were around last night, smell got stuck to your clothes.”
Huey figured it best to shut up.
“Your friend goes missing after getting busted with twenty pounds. You come out smelling like the shit. You know it’s not decriminalized here yet? You go north, they’ll just give you a fine if they catch you. Different story in this State Huey.”
“Prove it.”
“Huey I don’t give a shit what you smoke, I’m trying to tell you you’re being stupid. Thirty-five you still live with your mom, go down to Myrtle selling pot to kids. Your friend goes missing after getting busted with Cesar’s weed. What do you think happened to him?”
“He ran.”
“Where? Where’d he go?”
“How would I know?”
“The reason I bring up the grandma, she’s got no one now. At that age, got to figure out how to live all over again. Figure out how to get her medication, how to get to her appointments. She’s got to figure out how to use a computer so she can get food delivered. You meet her? You think she’s going to stand in front of a stove to cook a meal? She barely gets to the door when I knock.”
Huey stared at him.
“Looking at me like you’re tough, like this doesn’t affect you. That’s the case, Huey, I got you wrong. That woman’s got no one. Randy was the only thing keeping her going. That poor woman crying all day and praying for someone we both know isn’t coming home.”
“Why you telling me this?”
“I want you to think what your mom is going to be like without you around. You running with Cesar and Hector. You know he bragged about his sheet? You think what happened to Randy won’t happen to you?”
Huey was quiet, trying not to give anything away. He tried to remain still, stone cold, but it was hard with this guy scaring the shit out of him.
“But maybe you’re right. Maybe Randy ran off and I’m going to find him somewhere on a beach. Wouldn’t that be something.”
Carter stood up so Huey stood up with him.<
br />
“I’m going to say bye to your mom,” Carter said. “Next conversation I have with her I don’t think will be as pleasant.”
He brushed past Huey as he made his way through the living room.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Huey asked.
It stopped Carter in the doorway. He turned to face Huey. “I have a feeling the next time I talk to her I’ll be asking her to come and identify your body.”
“YOU BELIEVE HIM?” WHITMORE ASKED.
“I believe he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing or what he’s into. Least not the severity of it.”
“You do the Marshal thing again?”
“If it ain’t broke,” Carter said. “Tell me again what you do around here?”
Whitmore turned from the counter. “When there’s a crime I tend to take care of it. In the meantime I make a habit of helping bondsman like to play Halloween.”
“There’s a crime you just don’t know about yet.”
Whitmore turned back to face the counter. “I don’t doubt that. But you can make up being a Marshal, I can’t go making up a crime.”
The clerk returned to the counter and handed an envelope to Whitmore. He thanked her and they started walking down a hallway.
“You check the woods out by Bubs?”
“I did. Talked to the people inside too. Far as they know Randy and Cesar left together.”
“You want me to bust him for lying? I’d have to arrest you too for your impersonation.”
They turned a corner and went through a steel door, going down another hallway. “Where would you dump a body?” Carter asked.
They turned another corner and went through a glass door into a coffee shop. “As a perp or a cop? How you doing Nancy?” Whitmore greeted the lady behind the counter as they approached.
“Usual?” she asked.
“Please.”
“Anything for you?”
“Cream and sugar, twist of bourbon,” Carter said.
“I don’t know if you were joking about the bourbon but you’ll get it.”
“This is City Hall.”
“All the more reason.”
“So what’s the difference between a body with a perp and a body with a cop?”
“Sounds like a bad joke.”
“Humor me.”
“Cop knows what gets people caught,” Whitmore said with a smile.
Nancy returned and put the Styrofoam cups on the counter. She gave Carter a wink, told him she liked his style. They took the coffees and headed to a table. Carter took a sip, said, “You weren’t joking about the bourbon.”
“Why do you think everyone gets their coffee here? You get public defenders running around half in the bag.” Whitmore sat, putting the file on the table.
“That why you have a good close rate?”
“Got a good close rate because it’s not cops putting bodies in the ground. You know, sometimes I ask myself what you’re doing. If you’re making up a crime you can solve or you want your money back.”
“I’m thinking one has to do with the other. And someone’s got to solve it.”
“There’s no crime until we see it.”
“A tree falls in the forest.”
“No one knows until it’s found. What do you want me to do Carter? You think that boy’s dead? So do I. But it’s not a murder until a body shows up. Grandma fills out a missing persons report I’m just doing the same as you.”
Carter leaned back in his chair. “Glad about the bourbon,” he said, taking a drink.
“Answer your own question. You want to get rid of a body, what would you do? Think Cesar’s smart for a second.”
He thought about it. “I’d put it in the Pee Dee, maybe one of the bays. Let the gators get it. You think that’s what he did?”
“You want to go believing he buried it in the woods somewhere but you’re not thinking about Cesar. He’s not the type to go through the woods, get his nice shoes and clothes all muddy. If anyone, he’d get Huey or Hector to go out and dig a hole. But then he’s got to worry about hikers or hunters or whatever people want to do out there. There’s also the wildlife that maybe start go digging come back with a hand or an ankle.”
Carter was listening.
“Randy gets picked up, Cesar is who he calls. Cesar doesn’t go through you to get the bond, he phones the grandma, gets her to post, Cesar just goes and picks him up. That sounds like a man not panicking to me. It’s the panicking ones bury bodies when they don’t have to.”
“So he throws Randy in the water and hopes for a gator.”
“What’d I just say? He’s not hoping. He either sunk him or made sure Randy’s not going to make an appearance.”
“So we wait for the lottery? Hope someone bags and opens up the gator’s got Randy inside?”
“It’s what I’m thinking.”
“And that’s all you’re doing on this? Waiting for someone to shoot a lucky gator?”
“Again, what do you want me to do? You want me to dredge the river?”
“Check traffic cams maybe. From Bubs to Rounders Bend, see if there’s a camera puts Randy in the Acura.”
“I put Randy in Cesar’s car, then what? I’m busting him for lying to you again. For a guy busted with twenty pounds of pot?” Whitmore chuckled. “Unbelievable. Guy goes missing for pot, they get ten grand out of it. You think anyone but you and the grandma give a shit he’s gone?”
Carter didn’t know what to say. He was confused and angry.
Whitmore leaned forward on the table. “You’re going the right way. If you’re going to get anywhere, it’s Huey who’s going to break. But maybe it’s time you start thinking of that ten grand as gone.”
“I don’t like to lose,” Carter said.
“No one does,” Whitmore said, leaning back in his chair again, opening the file folder in front of him.
“Don’t suppose you’re going to surprise me now with a gift that’s going to help me.”
Whitmore looked up, eyes wide, to Carter. “Sheets on people busted for trafficking over twenty pounds crossing state lines I asked for.”
Carter looked at the papers, then up to Whitmore. “What’re you going to do with that?”
“Figure I’d try to do that police work you’re thinking I don’t do.”
HECTOR GOT TO THE DOOR to hear Cesar say, “Yes, yeah, okay, I understand,” into the phone before he hung up. Then he walked in through the screen door, batting at the jumping dogs at his waist.
“Everything good?” Hector asked, petting the dogs while they tried licking his hands. Cesar looked around the room, his hand holding the phone, pumping slightly. What he did while he was thinking.
“We’re going to have to keep TV man here longer than we told him.”
Hector opened the door and let the dogs out. He looked at Cesar.
“The Millers just phoned me. Told me they never heard of GCB Construction, they’re not going to leave the house. So we just go down to Office Depot or some shit, get some cards made, put a phone number on there from a cell we get. The phone rings, we answer it GCB. No problem.”
“What’s that got to do with Deacon?” Hector asked.
“We bring him by the house, get him to tell the Millers what we already told them, make it legit.”
“You want to do that first? Before we take him to the bank?”
“We keep him here and make him go to the house, then the bank, then we put him back on a plane. Can’t be showing up at the house too late, get them in a worse mood.”
“Or we do it the other way. Bring the man to the house in the morning. Take him to the bank tonight.”
Hector saw Cesar getting angry, thought maybe the stress was getting to him. “It make a difference to you what order we do it in?” Cesar asked.
“Not to me, no.”
“You want to go in the morning, maybe the husband ain’t home, out doing farming shit. Then we got to wait around for him, that seem like a good plan to you?”
“I’m just asking questions,” Hector said, trying to keep his own anger down. It was a reflex. Someone got mad at him, he was only happy to return the favor.
“We bring him tonight, stress the urgency of their situation. Look how late we’re coming that’s how important it is to get your ass out of the house,” Cesar said. “That okay with you?”
“It’s your plan Cesar. I’m good with it.”
“Maybe that’s the part you forget sometimes,” Cesar said. He sat on the couch and started rolling a joint. “Who say you could let my dogs out?”
Hector took a deep breath, calming himself. Back in Kirkland this would’ve been a fight that was over already. Can’t have someone talking to you like this without doing something. But that’s not how things worked out here. That’s not how Cesar worked.
He looked out through the screen and saw the Lincoln Town Car pull into the drive. “Huey’s here,” Hector said. He watched Huey storm up to the screen door. Saw the surprise on his face when he saw Hector there, not moving to let him in, having a little game with him. His blood was up, he had to show someone he was a man.
“Maybe I’ll come back later,” Huey said, holding up the blue bag.
“Hector, the fuck is wrong with you?” Cesar said. “Let him in.”
He looked at Cesar, saw him sliding the joint in and out of his lips, wetting it. Looked back to Huey and saw that little smirk on his lips, the smirk he wanted to smack off his face. Huey squeezed his way past and went into the living room. Hector looked over, saw Cesar glaring at him.
“Maybe you should take a walk,” Cesar said, “with the dogs you think are yours.”
Hector didn’t say anything, holding Cesar’s glare. He crossed his arms, put his chin up, telling Cesar he wasn’t going to back down. Telling Cesar he was getting close to the line.
“There’s a US Marshal came by to see me,” Huey said. He was twitching more than normal.
Cesar lit the joint and passed it to Huey, then reached forward and took the bag off the coffee table, saying, “He ain’t no US Marshal.”
Huey put the joint in his mouth, breathed in while taking small steps back and forth to either side. He can’t even pace back and forth right, Hector thought.
