Easy as One Two Three (A Flap Tucker Mystery)

by Phillip DePoy

  I shrugged. “Didn’t the skull seem kind of small for a ten-year-old? I mean, now that I’ve just recently seen a ten-year-old to compare it with …”

  She was doubtful. “Yeah, but, you don’t really know anything about it.”

  I nodded. “Right, I’m just saying …”

  But actually I had no idea what I was saying. I just ended it with another shrug.

  Dally hoisted the bag. “What kind of ruckus would it cause if we slipped in the church to drink this? My toes are frozen.”

  I smiled. “What else is new?” The woman’s toes could be frozen in the sand in Savannah in August at high noon.

  But we skittered back down the hill nevertheless, and slipped ourselves into a back bench at the church. The place was not much warmer than outside, and it was darker, but at least our feet weren’t in snow.

  She produced a corkscrew, a bottle, and two thick glasses — they were cheap, but they weren’t plastic. She knew how I put drinking wine out of plastic right up there with drinking American wines.

  I sipped. “La Grace Dieu. ‘Grace of God’?”

  “I guess. And don’t get too used to it. I only ordered one case.”

  “What was the occasion? You don’t serve this kind of stuff at your place.” Easy, the South’s finest nightclub, was more of a fair-scotch, good-whiskey, beers-of-many-lands kind of a place. Sure, they’d make a mixed drink if you asked, but I recalled Dally, quite late one night a few years back, staring at the vast array of bottles behind the bar — somewhat in her cups, as they say — and muttering, “One at a time, boys. One at a time.”

  She didn’t answer my question about the wine. She had business in mind. “So tell me what you think your little vision means this time. It always gives me a kind of side-show shiver, whenever you talk about it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Go on. Spill.”

  I sipped. “Okay.”

  I described both visions in detail, and let the images sink in.

  She had more questions. “What were you and I doing there? Swimming? And what about the ‘happy man’? Where’s he? I thought that you thought that he was behind all this. And what the hell is Miss Nina doing there?”

  “Yeah. Did I say she was the only nonfictional character in the whole deal?”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. She was a real live something-or-other.”

  She sipped. “Huh. And what about Wicher?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. He’s some kind of strange, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Not to mention some kind of dead.”

  “I told you not to mention that.” I poured a little more into my glass. “By the way, how’s Sissy and everybody?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sissy’s going home.”

  “Already?”

  “They ship them out of the hospital quick these days. The entire family unit will be safe and snug at home by this evening.” She glanced at her watch. “By now, actually.”

  I smiled. Couldn’t help it. “That’s great. What a family — Mustard, Sissy, and Rose.”

  She smiled too. “But what’s in a name?”

  “Yeah.”

  The church was nearly dark, and the wine was smoothing over quite a few of the rough edges I’d acquired in my adventures, what with climbing up a tree and seeing a dead body and finding — then losing — a cute little nipper.

  “Flap?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You ever thought about what it’d be like to have a kid?”

  “Not until just recently. Seems highly unlikely — and yet I find myself thinking just the same.”

  “Yeah.” She settled into the corner of the pew. “Kids.”

  I looked over at her. With her eyes closed like that, and the expression on her face, there’s not a Catholic in the nation who wouldn’t have mistaken her for a saint.

  I only had a second to contemplate her face. Then the silence was broken into a thousand jagged pieces by the clatter of burly men at the doorway, and the sight of firearms.

  “There you guys are.” Fedora had a tiny silver pistol of some sort.

  Moose seemed completely amazed, staring at Fedora. “They’re here just like you said.” His pistol was the size of a Revolutionary War musket.

  I tossed back the rest of the wine in my glass. “Boys.”

  Dally sat up, took in a deep breath.

  I smiled at her. Maybe it was calming. “You boys haven’t met my associate, Ms. Oglethorpe.”

  Fedora was quite taken. “This is the famous Dalliance Oglethorpe? Jeez, Ms. Oglethorpe, may I say you got the only nightclub worth spit in the entire southeastern region?”

  She set down her glass. “Always happy to hear how much the joint is worth.”

  Fedora was not one to let notoriety deter him from his game. “So on to beeswax. You just seen little Ginny McDonner. In this very establishment, which, what is it? A church?”

  I kept my eyes on him. “Good guess.”

  “I thought, what with the cross an’ all …”

  I sat up. “So what makes you think I saw anything of Ginny?”

  He smiled. He was very polite. “You had her, then you lost her. Some detective you are.”

  I smiled right back. “Only following in your footsteps.”

  And as luck would have it, all he did was laugh. He even lowered his gun a little. “Yeah. Am I a dope or what? How’d she get away from us? She tell you?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Maybe she was in the tree house all along.”

  He spun his head around to Moose. “I told you she could still be up there!”

  Moose seemed quite chagrined. “How could she be?”

  Fedora was, after all was said and done, philosophical about the whole deal. “Don’t matter, I guess. We could never have got up there.” He smiled at Moose. “You’ve got to admit, if she was up there, she had to have some guts.” He turned to me. “We shot off our guns a good bit to try and scare her.”

  “You shot at her?” Dally’s voice was a little on the shrill side.

  “No.” Moose was offended. “I couldn’t shoot at no kid. We shot into a snowbank.”

  Fedora was very kind all of a sudden. “That’s right, big guy.”

  I tried to steer us back on course. “So what can I do for you gents, exactly? You already seem to know what a dope I am, and that I got no little kid on or about my person. So.”

  Fedora seemed reminded of his mission. “Right. We got to know what she told you.”

  Moose chimed in. “Plus, we’re worried about her.” He lowered his voice and thumbed at Fedora. “He won’ admit it.”

  “Shut up.”

  Moose didn’t shut up. “I kind of feel responsible for the tyke. I mean, what with us snatchin’ her an’ all.”

  Fedora spun his whole body then. “Didn’t I just say shut up?”

  Moose shrugged. The shoulders were the size of small cows. “Like he already don’t know we’re the ones that copped the kid.”

  Dally tried. “Now, how is it you all knew Flap had encountered the kid in question — or that we’d be here, for that matter?”

  Fedora looked back at her and just shook his head. I kept my eye on Fedora, but I was talking to Dally. “Hainey. The happy man. He must have heard what we were saying in the kitchen. Remember, he was right outside in the dining area.”

  Dally nodded. “Right.” She looked at Fedora. “So your boss just told you to come looking for us.”

  For some reason this seemed like a huge joke to both the guys.

  “Yeah.” Fedora was laughing. “Our boss.” That’s all.

  I decided to break the mood. “Can’t figure why it was necessary to kill Wicher, though.”

  That brought things to a halt.

  Moose was very confused. “Who’s Wicher?”

  I locked eyes with him. “The Tarzan. The one that swooped down out of the tree house and shook you guys up so Ginny got away.”

  Fedora was nearly as baffled. “That’s the guy’
s name? Wicher?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Fedora had his gun by his side at that point. “An’ somebody popped that guy?”

  Moose seemed almost hurt. “You think we did it?”

  I was not convinced. “You weren’t just a bit angry about the fact that he helped your little hostage get away?”

  Fedora shook his head. “Sure, we was mad. You’d be too. But …” And I could see he was thinking fast. He sat down on the bench across the aisle from us. Then he looked over at me. “The cops think we did it?”

  I nodded. “They’re probably at the tree hut now. That’s where he got it. They’re gathering all manner of evidence against somebody or other, I’d imagine.”

  He looked at Moose. “I told you I had a bad feeling about all this.”

  Moose was nearly as upset. He was looking at the floor. “It just ain’t no good snatchin’ a little kid. ’Specially not one as cute as Ginny.” He looked up at me with those big sad eyes. “She skipped a grade, you know. She’s real smart.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

  Dally was catching the drift. “So you guys didn’t kill Wicher?”

  Fedora looked down at the gun in his hand. “Lady … bad as this is for business, I got to tell you. I ain’t never killed nobody.”

  Moose piped in, almost at the whisper, like he was telling a secret. “Me neither.”

  Fedora went on. “Worst I ever did was boink a guy’s wife one time. He beat the crap out of me an’ she got a huge divorce settlement, so I figure everything’s jake on that score. An’ the big guy here, I actually seen him carry a cockroach outside his apartment rather than step on it.”

  “They got a right t’ live,” Moose defended himself. “Just like everybody else.”

  Fedora was almost, well, imploring. “So you got to believe us. We didn’t kill a soul.” He looked at the floor again. “Man. This gig stinks.”

  Moose pocketed his pistol. He began confiding in us, glancing at Fedora, talking to me. “He needs the money for his sister. She gots a bum spine. Needs, like, a motorized wheelchair. She plays th’ piano.”

  Fedora looked up. “She’s a concert pianist. Ain’t much money in it.”

  Moose went on. “We do dis stuff, mostly it’s a jolly-type romp, already. Da rubes don’ want to sell, we knock a scare into ’em, den dey gets alotsa money. Everybody’s happy.”

  Fedora waggled his head. “It’s a living. Workin’ for the company.”

  Moose had more. “But sometimes we do what dey call freelance — an’ it usually ends up stinkin’. Dis particular caper, for instance.”

  I looked hard at him. “Freelance?”

  He nodded.

  I wanted to make sure. “And it stinks?”

  He confirmed it. “On ice — which, by the way, may I say we got plenty of. An’ what’s the deal wit dat? Dis is supposed to be da sunny South.”

  I shrugged. “March. What are you going to do?”

  Fedora looked up. “Me? I’m going to do some thinkin’. I don’ need no cops figurin’ I’m remotely able to whack some local.” He looked at me. “Shot? We ain’t fired these guns in a coupla years, I don’t think.”

  I shook my head. “Naw. Drilled.”

  He cocked his bean. “How?”

  “Drilled, like with a drill. In the heart.”

  Moose sat down at that one. The bench creaked underneath him.

  Dally pressed. “So, the boss sent you up here?”

  They looked at each other very strangely.

  Dally wouldn’t stop. “You thought you’d get what out of Flap?”

  Fedora finally acquiesced. “We thought … maybe somethin’ he knew or somethin’ he said, you know, would lead us back to the kid.”

  Dally shoved on. “But the game is sort of up, at this point. That’s more or less a dead end, a moot point. You guys botched it good.”

  I picked up. “The idea was simple. You cop the kid, you tell the folks they don’t see her again until they sell their land.” I looked around. “This land. This mountain. Your boss wants to buy this whole mountain for a tourist vineyard. And as an added bonus he gets old wood, new lumber, and all manner of yuppie home-improvement items in the bargain for another tentacle of the conglomerate. How’m I doing?”

  Fedora wouldn’t look me in the eye. Moose seemed more confused than ever — and that was going some.

  I took this to mean I was on the beam. “But Ginny gave you the slip. So not only do you not have your ticket, you’re both chumps. It’s bad all the way around: for the business, for your reputations, for the boss — oh, and, by the way, it’s bad for the McDonners, who are going nuts worrying about their daughter.”

  Still with the silent treatment.

  But Dally had a little jolt. “Hey. We ought to get to the McDonners. Tell them Ginny’s okay.”

  I shook my head. “I thought of that. But what am I going to say? I saw her, but she’s gone again? That’ll just shake their confidence in my abilities.”

  Dally was about to say something, when Moose interrupted. “We got to find da kid and take her home.”

  We all looked at him.

  He went on, very firm. “It’s goin’ on three days, it’s cold outside, and it’s our fault. I made up my mind. Just now.” He stood. “Let’s go get ’er.”

  I was sympathetic, but I had to bring up the problems at hand. “Ginny thinks Wicher is going to tell her when it’s safe to go home — and I think even you guys can figure out that's not going to happen now. By the way, did you ever tell Ginny you’d hurt her parents if something went wrong?”

  They looked at each other like little kids.

  Moose was wide-eyed. “No. We’d never.”

  I looked at Dally. “Do I believe this? And if I do, then who told Ginny that?”

  Fedora shook his head. “You got no reason to believe us. But take a look at the big guy, here. That look like a face that could get past you in the lie department?”

  He was right. I had no reason to trust them at all, but for some reason their story seemed true. I had a feeling about it, one of those funny, better-than-evidence instincts. I stared at Moose.

  He stared back. “We got to.” Honest to God, it looked like he was close to crying.

  I looked back at Dally. “So, I got a feeling.”

  Dally stood too. Only moonlight was lighting the place. She seemed a little like a ghost herself. “Whatever. I still don’t trust them … entirely. But I agree with Moose at least in this regard: We’ve got to find Ginny. We’ve got to find her now.”

  I knew what she meant. I nodded. “There’s something more to all this than I thought. Something more than any of us knows. Ginny really doesn’t want to come home. I mean bad.”

  Dally looked at the Bobbsey Twins. “And if you guys didn’t put the fear into her …”

  I looked out the window into the moonlight. “… There’s somebody else out there after her … who did.”

  23. Moonlight

  I found myself trying to figure what a picture the four of us painted stumbling around in the nighttime snow: huddled urban shadows in a Sherwood Forest. We’d decided to stick together, partly because we had not yet forged a bond of trust, and partly because we knew we were going to get lost and it’s just easier to be lost in a crowd.

  The sky was clear, like a polished mirror to the night, black and perfect. The moonlight was a chisel cutting into the darkness and spreading silver everywhere it could. I couldn’t help thinking it looked a little like something out of Fantasia — which, as everyone knows, is a great movie, especially if you happen to be in any sort of an altered state or another.

  The wine I’d had was just enough to keep me from minding the cold too much, and not enough to dull my appreciation of the scene. God Bless Dalliance Oglethorpe, and the Republic for which she stands.

  “Shhh.” Moose had heard something.

  We froze. Sure enough, there were voices. Hard to tell how many, but they were hushed and cons
piratorial.

  I sidled up to Dally. “Which way are they? Can you tell?”

  She pointed up over a little rise in between some boulders. I nodded.

  The four of us got up the hill as quietly as we could, and looked down. We could see them very well: three men with rifles. No lights. They were talking, half whispering to one another.

  I pulled back; gave a gander at Fedora. “Could be cops out looking for you guys.”

  “With hunting rifles?”

  “Could it be some of your friends?”

  He seemed insulted. “Please.”

  Dally peered in their direction. “Couldn’t they just be out hunting?”

  I looked at her. “Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of season for that sort of thing?”

  She shrugged. “Like I’d know.”

  Moose shushed us again and pointed. They were mobilizing.

  I looked in the direction they were headed. “I think they may have just come from the tree hut.”

  Fedora’s voice was squeaky. “Do we folly ’em?”

  I looked at him sideways. “Folly?”

  “You know … go after ’em.”

  “Ah.” Quick glance to Dally. “Well, I make it a policy never to actually go after guys with guns. They come after me sometimes, but never the other way around.”

  Moose nodded his big old head. “Good thinkin’.”

  The rifle trio slowly vanished through the trees. I straightened up. “Well, Cedar Duffie, the constable hereabouts, said he was callin’ the boys from the lab to get a peep at Wicher. Maybe he’s got some sort of posse out.” I looked at Dally. “Or maybe they really are just hunters.”

  Dally had apparently decided to have a little fun at the expense of our boys. “Or they could be some godawful militia group. There’s a lot of that up here. They could be working on their own — out to get you guys. Man.” She shook her head. “I sure wouldn’t want to be in their hands. Most of them are, like, neo-Nazis and they’ve really got a way with a prisoner.”

  Fedora looked over at Moose, his eyes very wide open. “Jeez, man. What if it’s them? We got to get out of here.”

  Dally wouldn’t let up. “Ever squeal like a pig?”

  Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t keep a straight face. I busted out laughing.