Firebreak: A Mystery

by Tricia Fields

  SEVEN

  The Hell-Bent Honky-Tonk drew well over a hundred people every Friday and Saturday night for live music, cold draft beer, and a packed dance floor. Located off Highway 67 in the midst of rolling ranch country, it drew people from all over far-west Texas. The owner, Hank Wild, had a knack for discovering talent and developing singers and bands into local celebrities. Over the past five years, two different local bands had been signed by Nashville labels, all because Hank had enough clout with the industry to get the scouts to make the long trip west.

  It was hard not only to bring big-name acts to such a remote area, but also for the locals to travel several hours to see an out-of-town show: the band had better be worth the drive. The Hell-Bent was the solution. With its success, Hank became a local celebrity in his own right. Country singers in the area knew that if they wanted an audience, they had to develop a performance Hank would buy. If he didn’t like your act, you might as well pack up and move elsewhere, because the Hell-Bent was where it was at.

  No billboards advertised the dance hall; they weren’t necessary. A metal sign hung between two massive poles at the entrance to the lane that read HELL-BENT HONKY-TONK, but an out-of-towner could easily mistake it for one of the surrounding ranches and drive on by. From the road, the building appeared to be a large hay barn, but a trip down the long drive revealed a gravel parking area large enough for several hundred people, with spillover parking in the desert beyond. At night, there was little doubt what the Hell-Bent was about: outdoor pole lighting and lanterns strung along the roofline lit up the building, and the bands and the rowdy crowd could be heard for miles.

  At a little before noon Josie pulled into the parking lot and counted about fifteen cars, most likely people searching for solace among friends until information could be discovered about the status of their homes and their property. Josie knew they would be frustrated with her when she wasn’t able to provide information. She grabbed her steno pad from the passenger seat and locked the jeep.

  The barn was weathered gray and covered in handmade signs that local performers were invited to display to advertise their acts. The band signs had become more artistic, and more outrageous, as the years had progressed. Hank strategically moved the signs to keep the front-runners near the entrance. Josie noticed that Billy Nix’s sign hung on the porch, just a few feet from the front door—a prime location. Billy’s three-foot-wide sign was a carved replica of a rugged cowboy hat with the words “Outlaw Billy Nix” carved into the hat brim. Josie thought of how sad it would be if his life ended before he received the big break he’d worked so hard to achieve.

  The barn’s substantial wooden door opened onto a dance hall the size of a basketball court. After driving into the bright afternoon sun, Josie had to allow her eyes to adjust for a moment. The shiny wooden dance floor was empty and swept clean. A few overhead lights were turned on, but otherwise the space was barely lit. Hank served sandwiches and other greasy bar food, but it was secondary to the music. No one cared if the fries were cold as long as the bands were hot.

  Opposite the front entrance, on the far side of the dance floor, was a raised stage where Josie and Dillon had last watched Billy Nix perform almost a year ago. She remembered having a conversation with Dillon about how there was often a fine line between the great local bands and the stars who played on the radio. They had agreed that night that Billy and the Outlaws sounded as good as any band they’d ever heard at a larger venue.

  Josie walked toward the bar, where half a dozen men sat on stools. Another ten or fifteen men and women sat at the tables. The TV on the wall was on, but the volume was down. Hank was talking to the men sitting at the bar and didn’t notice her approach. When she reached the men, Sauly Magson, who was sitting on a stool at the end of the row, spotted her and called out, “Chief!”

  Sauly was one of Josie’s favorite locals. He was an old hippie burnout who didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was dressed in ragged blue-jean shorts and a ripped T-shirt, and he wore nothing on his feet, allowing his leathered soles to serve as his shoes. The “No shoes, no shirt, no service” motto had never applied to Sauly, at least not in Artemis.

  “Hey, Sauly. How you doing?” Josie patted Sauly on the back and felt the attention in the bar shift to her, the conversation die out to nothing. She knew people were desperate for information, so she backed up to see most everyone and raised her voice. “I’m not here to give an official report, but I know you all need answers. I just wish I had more to give you. The police haven’t been given the authority to check homes yet. Unofficially, I can tell you the fire is close to contained. The bad news is, the firefighters haven’t had the chance to check structures to make sure they’re safe enough to allow people back in.”

  “How many homes were lost?” Hank asked.

  “That number hasn’t been confirmed yet.”

  “Let us check our own structures. We’re not idiots,” said a man Josie recognized as a local truck driver.

  “Nobody said you were an idiot. But you and I both know, if we open up the roads, we’ll have people who have no idea whether the roof is ready to cave in on them walking back into homes. I’m not willing to risk someone’s life. Just try and be patient with us. I promise, our goal is to get everyone back into their homes as soon as possible. Keep listening to Marfa Public Radio. That’s the best source of information right now.”

  Sauly asked, “You figure on getting in to check houses today still?”

  Josie paused. She didn’t want to commit to details, with the first responders facing such a huge task with no timeline yet established. “I honestly can’t say, Sauly. I wish I could. Those firefighters worked through the night and they’re exhausted. They just need time to do their job.” Josie paused a moment and no one said anything so she turned and sat down next to Sauly.

  “Rough night,” he said.

  Sauly lived on the other side of the mudflats and Josie was surprised when Otto had told her that Sauly had evacuated. She had figured him for a holdout. It had been a relief to hear he left.

  “Where’d you stay last night?” she asked him.

  “You really want to know?”

  She laughed. “No, I guess not.”

  “’Cause I’ll tell you.”

  She raised her hands, still smiling. “Nope. I don’t really want to know.” She had no doubt Sauly would tell her the truth. She assumed he’d trespassed, maybe slept in someone’s barn or business for the night to stay close to town.

  “Have you seen your house today?” she asked, knowing that the road he lived on was still closed.

  Sauly grinned. “Yep.”

  “Did it make it through the fire?”

  “Yep. Burned all around me. You see my plow job?”

  Josie shook her head, having no idea what he meant.

  “I been watching the fire since they first showed it on the news with the wind blowing our way. Night before last, I got my tractor out and I plowed up four acres of land, all around my house. Plowed up my garden and all my flowers. There wasn’t nothing to burn next to my house. Wasn’t a flame that touched me.”

  Josie nodded. “You’re a smart man, Sauly. More people ought to think that way, but everybody figures the gamble’s worth it. I’m the same as everybody else.”

  Josie waved at Hank, who was standing at the other end of the bar, pouring someone a draft beer. He put a finger in the air and grabbed his ringing cell phone by the cash register and answered it.

  Josie faced Sauly again. “You heard anything about Billy or Brenda Nix? Where they might be?”

  He screwed his face up in thought. “Can’t say I have. You might ask John Lummin, sitting over there.” Sauly pointed to a man with a smooth shave and a beer belly, laughing at the woman sitting across from him at one of the tables. “He and Billy are buddies.”

  Hank walked quickly down the bar. “Sorry, Josie. What can I get you?”

  “You mind if we talk in your office for just a minute?” sh
e asked.

  He paused, his face instantly tense, the universal look of dread that people got when the police unexpectedly asked for a conversation.

  “You bet. Come on back.”

  A waitress was wiping up tables and Hank waved a hand at her and motioned toward his office. She looked up and nodded.

  Josie patted Sauly on the back and told him to stay safe.

  Hank walked down to the end of the bar and led Josie back to where his office was located. He pulled a key out of his front pocket, unlocked the door, and flipped on the light switch. The office was decorated in classic cowboy style, with ropes and spurs and rodeo posters hanging on the wood-paneled walls. Hank’s rolltop desk was a mess of papers that he didn’t glance at. He motioned toward a small table and a pair of chairs next to the desk and they sat down.

  Josie had known Hank for many years, but she still didn’t have a good sense of the person he was outside of the Hell-Bent. He wasn’t married and appeared to be devoted to his business and his customers, a nice guy who cared about the people and the town that he catered to. He was in his mid to late fifties, with thinning hair and a slight paunch that hung over his large cowboy belt buckle. Rumor had it that Hank had a fling with each new waitress he hired, but Josie doubted there was much truth to the stories. Rumors were all part of the high-profile job of running a honky-tonk.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I have some questions I’d like to ask you, but I’d like to keep our conversation confidential. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you talked to Billy or Brenda since the evacuation?”

  He thought for a moment. “They stopped by on their way out of town yesterday.”

  “Here?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “What time did they come by?”

  His eyebrows drew together and he pursed his lips as if thinking. “Jeez, I don’t know. Maybe six o’clock? It’s hard to say. It was such a madhouse in here yesterday. People used it like an evacuation center. I had a few people bring sleeping bags and an air mattress and they slept on the dance floor last night.”

  “Can you think back and try and give me your best estimate on the time? It’s important.”

  “What’s this about?” he said.

  “Let’s just think through the timing first.”

  He looked worried now, obviously caught off guard by her response.

  “Okay.” Hank sat forward and placed his forearms on the table, crossed his hands in front of him, and concentrated his stare on the table. “Well. They came in to get Billy’s guitar. Both of them came in together. We were serving food. It was in the middle of the dinner hour, but we’d been serving meals all day. People ordered just to sit down at the tables and talk to their neighbors and families. Trying to figure out where to stay through the evacuation. I had people crying, others calling the bar, trying to find out where people were.”

  Josie listened quietly, allowing him to process everything.

  “I was behind the bar.” He looked up at Josie, his eyes lost in thought for some time. Finally he shook his head slowly and said, “I just can’t say. I wasn’t paying any attention to the time. I talked to so many people, trying to connect family and friends. And, honestly, trying to keep up with orders. I called in all staff members who could make it.” His expression changed and he pointed a finger at Josie. “I’ll tell you who might know. Angela, one of our bartenders, had to get the keys from me to let Billy into the dressing room.”

  “Is she here?”

  “No, she worked about a fourteen-hour shift yesterday. She’s off today.”

  “Doesn’t she live in the little brown adobe, along FM-170?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Do you know if Billy and Brenda stayed long?”

  “I don’t think so. Seems like after Angela let Billy in, he came walking out not long after with his guitar. I think Brenda was sitting down at one of the tables talking to somebody. I don’t remember who though.”

  “I was at their house this morning. I didn’t see any cars, just a pickup truck. Any guess where they might have spent the night?”

  He gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Josie, I just don’t know. Hopefully Angela can give you better information.”

  “We’ve tried to reach them via their cell phones, but they haven’t returned our calls. Any ideas on how we could track them down?”

  “I’d check with one of the band members. Maybe they’ll know where they’re staying.”

  * * *

  Josie followed Hank back to the bar and saw that John Lummin was no longer in his seat. She asked Sauly about him and learned that John had just left. Josie said a quick thanks to Hank and left to try and catch up with John. She waved his truck down as he was backing out of his parking spot.

  He rolled down his window. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m trying to track down Billy Nix. Sauly said he’s a friend of yours.”

  “Is this about the fire?” he asked. “They didn’t lose their house, did they?”

  “I’m just here to track the Nixes down so that I can speak with them. Any idea where Billy was headed when he left town yesterday?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I talked to him yesterday in the bar.” John had a slow Southern drawl and a smooth-shaven face that reminded her of a young George Strait. “He and Brenda were going up north to Austin to see about booking some weekends. Brenda said she wanted to make use of the time. She told Billy, no sense laying around a hotel room for days when they could be booking dates.” He lifted an eyebrow at Josie.

  “You don’t think Billy wanted to go?”

  “I know he didn’t. Billy was worried about the house. He was worried about their friends, about people losing their homes. Brenda don’t think that way though. It’s all about the contract.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, getting Billy to Nashville. Signing with Gennett.”

  “Signing him to a record label.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Brenda used to live in Nashville. She thinks she’s got big connections. She forgets it’s Billy’s talent that’ll get that record contract.”

  “Have you talked to them since they left?”

  “No ma’am. I got their cell phone numbers if you need them.”

  “We’ve already tried and left messages.”

  He frowned. “That’s not like either one of them. They keep those cell phones on all the time. Don’t want to miss a gig.” He said the last statement in a falsetto, as if imitating Brenda.

  Josie ignored the sarcasm. “Can you tell me what time they left the bar yesterday?”

  He rested his hands on the steering wheel and looked out the front window for a moment. He finally looked back at her, shaking his head. “I don’t remember seeing them leave. There was so much commotion I didn’t pay any attention.”

  “I appreciate your time.”

  “I’ll let you know if I hear from him.”

  Josie called Otto and told him about her conversations with Hank and John. He and the fire chief had just finished combing the living room for evidence. “Nothing of interest. Cowan’s just beginning his initial examination. The only thing he’s commented on is the position of the victim’s arms and hands, all curled up. We thought it looked like he was trying to defend himself. Cowan called it the boxer’s pose. He says when a body dies with intense heat present, the hand and arm muscles draw up. Makes them look like a boxer in the fighting position. Because of that, Cowan thinks the victim died either in the fire, or was killed just before the fire was started. If the body was experiencing rigor mortis it most likely wouldn’t have curled up like that.”

  “Good. That narrows it a little more. I’ll drive by Angela’s place to see if we can get a specific time the Nixes stopped at the Hell-Bent.”

  “Call me back in an hour. I should have more from Cowan.”

  * * *

  Otto stood just inside the living room with a
clipboard and pencil, making a detailed diagram of the house, the furniture, the dimensions of the room, and the location of the body. Cowan stood in front of the body, dictating his observations into a microrecorder. He wore a white mask that made it difficult for Otto to hear what he was saying. Otto was anxious for him to check the victim’s backside in hopes a wallet was still intact since the couch wasn’t completely torched.

  Cowan said, “Otto. Interesting find here. Come take a look.”

  Otto was intentionally standing behind the couch so that he could construct the diagram without having to view the body. As a police officer, he felt that his weak stomach was an embarrassment, but it was something he had little control over. Earlier, he had looked at the grotesque mask of death that was on the victim’s face and had to turn away until his stomach settled.

  Otto stepped carefully over the ash, still leery about walking on the burned floor. He was cautious by nature, and he was certain that his careful ways had maintained his safety through four decades of police work.

  Otto stood next to Cowan and peered down at the blackened arm that he had lifted a few inches off the couch.

  “Recognize this?” Cowan asked.

  “An arm?”

  Cowan turned his head to glance back at Otto and raised his eyebrows. “A bit more specific than that?”

  Otto clenched his jaws. Cowan had the annoying habit of asking questions of the police officers he worked with instead of simply explaining what he was working on. Otto found it insulting. It made him feel like a student walking through rounds with a physician, being quizzed on his investigatory acumen.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what you’ve found?” Otto said, barely concealing his irritation.

  “Come closer,” Cowan said. He leaned out of Otto’s way so that he could get a better look. “His wrist?”