by David Bishop
“Who?”
“Our number one law enforcement officer, Sheriff Reggie, and Mud, from The Drop. Mud mostly held me. The sheriff wore black leather gloves. I’d seen him wear them before. Up under his mask, Reggie had to be working up a good lather. Fuck ‘im.”
It was the first time Linda had ever heard Dix swear.
“Your lip won’t stop bleeding. And your two fingers on your right hand need to be set. I don’t . . . I don’t know how to do that.”
“Help me up.” She did. He made it partway, leaning into the arm on the leather couch. “Don Washington lives two doors to the left as you go out. He’s single. We played ball together a million years ago. He’s a doc at the hospital in Wichita. Comes home weekends. Drives back early Monday. He’ll be up now. Go get him. He can be trusted.”
Linda remembered the name Don Washington from school but couldn’t picture him. When she got to his house, she found Dr. Washington backing out of his garage. He grabbed a bag and came right away.
“Hey, neighbor.” Washington sounded jovial, but his face betrayed the lightness of his manner. “Looks like you got the worst of it. Did you get in a lick or two so they’d know they’d been in a fight?”
“No. One held, one hit, a quiet third guy held the gun.”
“A gun, eh, the defense of cowards. This have anything to do with Billy Cranston?”
“Doesn’t all the shit in this town?”
“Listen, I want to know a lot more, but I have to get on the road. I shouldn’t be late. I’ve got an early surgery scheduled, it’s a serious one. I hope you understand.” Dix nodded. “Let me do what I can now, we can talk more next weekend. In the meantime if you need me, call. I can always run home late.” He held his business card up for Linda to see before putting it on the coffee table.
Dr. Washington examined Dix’s eye, looked at the lip which still had not stopped bleeding, and felt around Dixon’s midsection. “Your eye will be okay. Keep some ice on the cheek and the bone above the eye. Fifteen minutes on, fifteen off. Repeat that every four hours until you go to bed tonight. I’m gonna put a butterfly and pressure bandage on your lip to stop the bleeding. It’s borderline, but I don’t think it’ll need stitches. If the bleeding doesn’t stop within an hour, you’ll have to go in and get it sutured. If the bleeding does stop, put some ice on it too. As it heals put petroleum jelly on it so it won’t dry and crack. It’ll help minimize any scarring.”
“What about his fingers?” Linda asked.
“I can set those.” He handed her some keys. “This one is the front door. In my bathroom, the drawers to the right of the sink, you’ll find some adhesive tape. Bring two rolls, the widest and the narrowest. Hell, bring ‘em all. Oh, also, in the bathroom linen closet is some wide gauze wrap. Bring that and a few finger splints; there should be a couple in a tray near the gauze. I think he has a couple cracked ribs. I’ll know by the time you get back.”
When Linda returned, the major cut on Dix’s lips was bandaged. At the moment nothing on his face was bleeding.
“He has several tender ribs,” Washington said. “Not broken, bruised. All that’s gonna be sore as hell for a good while, but should mend assuming no further aggravation. Have you got a sheet, white preferably, that I could cut and tear into strips.”
“Hallway closet,” Dix said with some discomfort. Linda headed there while the doctor kept speaking, a little louder so she could still hear him.
“I’ll get your chest wrapped tightly. Keep it on for three days, then, if it’s feeling better, take off the wrap and no rough stuff, pleasurable or otherwise. If you’re unsure of anything, call me.” He said that last part looking at Linda who had come back into the room. “I don’t know who you are, Miss, but it’s a damn good thing you’re here.”
“Don, say hello to Carol Benson,” Dix said through padded lips, the pronunciation of the B in her last name not coming too clearly. Linda repeated it.
“Hi,” the doc said. “Like I said, good thing you’re here.”
While the introduction had gone on, Linda cut the sheet and Don Washington tore it the rest of the way. The two of them kept at it until he said there were enough strips. Each time he wrapped the makeshift bandage three times around Dix he cut the strip off, then split the end up six inches, worked one side behind a prior strip, and tied it into a knot. Then he wrapped more and repeated the cut and tie.
“Okay. That should do it. You’re going to feel this for a good while, old buddy, but you’ve always been a tough son of a bitch so you’ll grin and bear it. Now, I got to get on the road. With some speeding I should make it.”
“Any tickets,” Dix said, “I’ll pay.”
“Sometimes they let doctors off when we get stopped for speeding. Emergency, you know. It’s one of the perks that made me decide to become a doctor. At least until I worked on a few people who’d been brought in after high-speed auto accidents. That sort of spoiled my fascination with driving fast.”
The doc put his hand on Dix’s shoulder. “Take care, Pal.” Then he shook Linda’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Carol. Right now you’re more important to his healing than I am. Hopefully, we’ll have more time to get acquainted later. You call me if you need me. If you think it’s necessary. Don’t let this palooka talk you out of it.” With that Dr. Washington was out the door.
* * *
The beating of Dix showed that Billy Cranston was feeling pressure, and that he probably had not as yet identified Linda. From her side of things, she felt like she had accomplished nothing other than getting a good man battered.
Early Monday afternoon Linda made a quick trip to the market and got Dix a few bananas, a twelve pack of beer and one of soda, a few cans of soup, and a carton of ice cream and one of sherbet. Later, with his help, she made a list of a few more things he’d need or want to eat. Easy to fix things she’d take back later. He had her get adhesive tape to replace what Dr. Washington had used to keep Dix’s fingers in place. Linda told him she had an appointment she needed to keep, but that she would be back.
* * *
At four, Linda walked into Denton Austin’s law office. Upon seeing her, the receptionist smiled and picked up the phone. A moment later she nodded to whomever she was speaking, no doubt Denton Austin, a silly gesture since her employer couldn’t see her nod. She hung up and came around to open the door into the lawyer’s office.
Right off, the attorney told Linda that her half-brother, Arthur, had called to say he would get in the night before the reading. He went on to confirm that Vera Cunningham was the controlling shareholder in the VC Properties Corporation, the owner of record of the two properties where Billy Cranston operated his brothel and gambling casino. There were no mortgages on either property and no record of a recorded rental agreement. Across the board, the same story Hildy had reported the prior day.
“Mortgages are commonly recorded,” Attorney Austin explained, “leases almost never. There’s no public record of any kind that connects Billy Cranston or any of his corporations to either property or to Vera.”
Billy’s control of these properties was created by cash, enforced by intimidation and, when needed, muscle. DON’T BETRAY BILLY CRANSTON was written all over the setup, in invisible ink.
Linda left Attorney Austin’s office thirty minutes after she walked in. Her next stop would be the upstairs residence of Hildegard Caruthers.
Chapter Twenty-three
Sometimes the Hell you know is better than the Hell you don’t know
MONDAY 5:00 P.M.
Linda knocked on Hildy’s front door.
Dixon opened the door.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Linda shrieked, still standing in the doorway. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
“I can take it easy here. Doc Washington gave me a prescription for pain meds. Hildy had it filled downstairs. The meds lessen the hurt, but do nothing for my good looks.” Linda’s expression let Dix know she had not found his comment humorous. “A
fter this meeting,” he said, motioning downward with his hands. “I’m headed back home. Okay?”
Linda walked in. The drapes were drawn over the windows. The room lit by several lamps. She sat on the couch across from Hildy’s rocker. Dix took a seat next to Linda, more lying than sitting, his legs stretched out. He leaned into the corner of the couch, keeping his torso, stiff from wrapping, somewhat straight. Unable to tie laces, he wore loafers.
“How did you get here?” Linda asked, not believing Dix would be able to sit up straight enough to drive.
“I walked.”
“You walked?” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “You’re a damn fool.”
“I couldn’t sit up to drive. It was only eight blocks. I left in plenty of time. The sheriff’s deputy drove by. I gave him the finger.” Linda frowned. Dix shrugged. “Okay,” he said, “it was childish, but it felt good.”
“Men,” is all Linda could muster to say. She had a flashback of initially meeting her second husband after he had been badly cut. The doc in Sea Crest had said she had his blood type so Linda donated blood for a man who was then a stranger.
“Why didn’t you call me?” she demanded. “I could have come by to get you.”
“I thought about it, but your movements are being watched. I don’t want Billy learning the three of us were getting together. That would’ve told him too much. Besides, I hoped someone would see me and report it back to Billy. I wanted those bastards to know they didn’t stop anything.”
Linda shook her head. “Macho bullshit.”
Hildy said, “The beating was used to ask him about who torched Billy’s barn. And see if he knew anything about who robbed the casino. They were aware you two have been seeing each other socially and they wanted to know who you are. He told them nothing. In defense of Dix, I can only say that Mr. Caruthers was also a macho man. God love ‘em all.”
Linda put her hand on Dix’s arm and smiled. “My identity wasn’t worth you being hurt.”
“Let’s get this meeting started,” Dix said. “I don’t have all day.”
Hildy took charge as if she were again in front of one of her classes which more than once had included both Linda and Dix.
Before Hildy started, Linda sat forward. “Hildy said you were asked about Billy’s barn and about the robbing of his casino. I didn’t know about his casino being hit. Did either of you?”
They both shook their heads. “It hasn’t been in the papers,” Hildy said.
“Well,” Dix said, “from what I could gather as they worked me over, some guy came in wearing a mask. Whoever it was took all the money in the place.”
“That had to be a hefty haul,” Hildy said.
Linda nodded while thinking. That sounds like Ryan Testler. Pick up some cash toward what he calls his retirement account while dialing up the pressure on Billy.
Linda didn’t share this thought with the others. When she did speak, she asked Dix, “What did they ask you about the killing of Carlos Molina?”
“Now that you mention it, not a damn thing. They never mentioned Carlos.”
“To me that means Billy didn’t need to ask. He already knows who killed Carlos.”
“Okay,” Hildy began, “as curious as that is, we have nothing that definitely says why they didn’t mention Carlos. Let’s move on. Are we all in agreement now that Vera owns the two properties as a front for Billy Cranston?” Linda pursed her lips and nodded. “Alright,” Hildy said, “it’s time to decide how we approach this, but first may I ask you a question, Mr. Wardley?” He slowly turned his head toward his former teacher. His face showed his discomfort.
“Is your objective here the routine enforcement of the law? An arrest and charges against Billy Cranston and co-conspirators, followed by his conviction and incarceration, or do you have another goal in mind?”
Dix looked over at Linda. “As you know, Hildy, I left law enforcement when I returned here to take the job at the school. To be clear, even blunt, I want to see Billy release his stranglehold on this town. I can’t blatantly subvert the law, but I am prepared to do whatever necessary short of blatant.”
For the next hour, while nibbling sandwiches Hildy had prepared, they talked the matter around and around without really getting anywhere. Hildy disclosed that attorney Denton Austin would help to the extent of providing legal services, but not with anything illegal.
“He’s concerned about possibly losing his license to practice law,” Hildy said. “We may need him as an attorney if some of this goes awry.”
They agreed an insider was needed, but failed to agree on which of the possible people they should approach first, or how to go about it. They adjourned after agreeing to give it some more thought and Dix a few more days to heal. They would meet again in two days, on Wednesday, mid-morning.
Linda was already planning her next solo move: a visit to Billy’s casino. When she got back to the hotel she would signal Ryan. He’d agreed to come up to her room if he could. If not, the next day he’d be at the lake at noon where she’d sat to leisurely read on a few occasions.
Linda left Hildy’s home with Dix and drove him home. They were careful not to be seen leaving Hildy’s place together. After getting Dix as comfortable as possible and settled in with his pain meds and a pitcher of water by his bed, she went back to her hotel and set up the signal that she wanted to see Ryan.
The whole thing about Vera in cahoots with Billy continued to chew on her and she couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d visit as if it were an innocent stop-by thing, which made her feel duplicitous.
* * *
Vera let Linda in and gave her a light hug. During small talk, Vera continued tidying up her combination workroom and living room.
While Linda told Vera about Dixon being beaten, she gauged her friend’s reaction. “What’s going on in your town?”
“My town?” Vera said. “I thought it was our town.”
“I’m not the one who’s lived here the past twenty years. What the hell is going on that would cause Dixon to be attacked?”
Vera had already put the closed sign in her store window. She poured two cups of hot water and stuck in tea bags, putting them on table along with napkins and spoons. She put the baked goods, from the last time Linda came by, in the microwave to freshen then. When they were on the table along with the butter dish and two small plates, she sat down—apparently now ready to reply.
“Billy Cranston is scared,” Vera began. “And it’s not Dix that has him rattled. Billy’s been dealing with Dix for a good while, so he isn’t all that concerned about him specifically. What’s messing with Billy is you! Billy doesn’t know who you are. His casino was robbed the other night. As you know, his main muscle, Carlos Molina, was murdered. Billy’s never had this kind of trouble before. He’s never had any real resistance to his rule. His father and grandfather handed him a submissive town. He’s certain you are somehow behind what’s going on.”
“So, you haven’t told him who I am?” Linda said it monotone, keeping her eyes on Vera’s face.
“Of course, not. You know I wouldn’t do that. My God, Linda, Carol . . . whoever. I love you like a sister. In my heart you are. . . . I would never—” Her words died, but she kept shaking her head, slowly.
“If, I should say when, Billy does learn who I am, he’ll blame you. He’ll know you’ve known all along and that you didn’t tell him.”
“Why should he expect I would tell him?”
“That’s for you to tell me.”
Linda said nothing further, waiting for Vera to fess up. The two of them sipped their tea. After a while, Linda said she had to leave and walked out into the night without another word being said between them.
Chapter Twenty-four
Put all the cash on the table before your first bet
Linda felt unsettled by her meeting with Vera. It was possible, even likely, from what Dix and Hildy told Linda earlier, that Vera’s involvement with the town pit bull was more than just financia
l. In addition to her co-vigilantes saying Billy and Vera had a weekly tryst, Linda remembered the beer mug she saw in Vera’s sink with the salt shaker out of place. Linda sensed all along that there were things Vera hadn’t told her. The unvarnished truth was Billy would fuck any willing woman, and Vera had always been a willing woman. Still, Vera did have standards. She had never been a gal with a come-and-get-it sign over her bedroom door. She had to like the guy, and Vera had often proclaimed her hatred for Billy.
Assuming Ryan wouldn’t be able to respond to her signal until late that night, Linda decided to drive out to the lake and sit for a while. In her youth, she often went there. The lake was beautiful at night, reflecting the few scattered ranch lights that dotted the distance. It was only eight so she could sit an hour or so before going back to the hotel. If Ryan did come, it wouldn’t be until the early morning hours, while the hotel night clerk usually napped. She settled down on a lower rock, the gently lapping water toying with her toes. Her solace was interrupted by a voice.
“Hello, Linda.” It was Ryan. “Don’t move. In case you’re watched you need to act as if you’re alone. I saw your signal and then saw you leave the hotel. I guessed you might be headed here. I took a different route to arrive before you or your tail. I parked about a half mile away and jogged in. What’s up?”
“Dixon Wardley has been beaten, quite badly. He won’t die, but he has broken fingers, bruised ribs, and a pretty messed up face.”
“I know. The sheriff did it while Mud held him. Billy was there too.”
“Billy? Are you certain?”
“I heard them talk about it in Billy’s office. I followed them. The man’s rattled, which is just what we want. My inquiries indicate that Billy’s father and his grandfather were hard men, but fair, and loved the town. Billy, instead, has chosen to be a parasite. He’s led a privileged life. He really doesn’t know how to deal with opposition that has a plan.”
