by K C Norrie
When Jonesy sat down, Paul explained what had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Had it only been two days? It seemed much longer.
"Four men came to Jai' Doro looking for something. They started in my house, and then came to my office. By the time they came to my office, Linde was dead. They killed her Jonesy. They killed my Linde."
Jonesy went to pieces, crying inconsolably. He opened his mouth to say something. Perhaps he was going to defend himself, but probably he would begin apologizing and begging forgiveness. It didn't matter. Paul wouldn't listen this time. There was no forgiveness in his heart, and he was far from finished speaking his piece. He talked over Jonesy's attempt to interrupt.
"The murderers have been tried and hung. Justice has been served. It is shocking for me to see justice served so swiftly. What we must remember is how different the laws are here from the United States. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. They live by old laws that were never changed and never challenged.
"Murder is defined in the Jai` Doro law records, as intentionally taking the life of another. The penalty for the crime of murder is death by hanging.
"That is what is written in the books. Plain and simple, you may think. But there is more. A section of paragraphs that reads, Exceptions and Inclusions. I read these as well. I wanted to be well informed.
"Inclusions read something like any person or persons who intentionally help another person commit murder shall be also charged with the crime of murder and so be also sentenced to death by hanging.
"That is why it does not matter which one of the men pulled the trigger of the gun that killed Linde. Everyone involved was deemed guilty of the same crime.
"Exceptions held some surprises. You would not see any such written in the laws of the United States.
"A person is justified to kill another person if he has arisen from death."
Paul watched Jonesy’s expression when he said this. This last bit of information was unexpected. He could see this in Jonesy's face. Paul continued.
"Another exception read, 'If a man should murder another man's wife, her husband is granted the right to kill that man.' "
Jonesy said nothing though he nodded.
Paul stopped to gauge the loudness of the pub. He needed it noisy for the next part. There was boisterous talking and raucous laughter all around them. Men were heatedly arguing at the card table.
"The newspaper article containing my picture was found among the killers' possessions. It had the same coffee stain on the word Mateo as the one you showed to me. At first, I thought this a coincidence. The mind is a funny thing. It does not accept truth easily. We don't always see what is there if we do not want to believe it."
Jonesy looked straight at Paul; his eyes wide. Paul wondered if his heart pounded in his ears.
Paul continued.
"Chief Jaimez suspected, but I finally believed, when I saw the red X's on that map. The Treasure Chest. But I couldn't figure out why? I couldn't imagine why. I ask you now. Why Jonesy? Why did help those men kill Linde?"
Jonesy opened his mouth to speak. At the same time, shots rang out from the card table and Paul watched in horror as a bullet struck Jonesy through his back and blood began to pump out from the front of his chest. Paul was only vaguely aware of screams in the background as he grabbed Jonesy to keep him from falling out of his chair. Jonesy opened his mouth to speak and only managed to whisper, "Going home" before blood came gushing out from his mouth. Jonesy was dead.
Chapter 31
In the end, two men were arrested; two rough looking gamblers from a hot-blooded argument at the card table. One unwashed, unshaved man kept shouting, "It was an accident. I didn't mean for the gun to go off. I never meant for this to happen!" It made Paul think of Linde and the gunman who shot her.
Jonesy was the only casualty. Paul sat with him all through the police inquiry. He was shocked. He was surprised at the sadness he felt for Jonesy's demise. The bartender had kindly brought him another beer. He sipped it as the Sao Cachito police questioned the witnesses.
In the end they had to let Paul take Jonesy away.
"My friend is from Jai` Doro. He is one of us. You understand that I must take him back with me."
Everyone understood. They had all heard the stories, and everyone knew who Paul was. He was the Prefeito of Jai` Doro. He was entitled to the utmost respect and courtesy. He asked to make a phone call, and a phone was provided, while others retrieved Paul's horse and cart from "Jones Oficina." Paul himself carried Jonesy outside placing him on the cart securely beside him, before turning the horse toward the long dark road to Jai` Doro. It had now been two hours since Jonesy's death.
****
Deputy Perido and Chief Jaimez met Paul as he pulled his horse and cart up to the barn that belonged to the chief; Jonesy slumped against his shoulder as if asleep. No bells would toll for his death. The police chief did not feel he was one of them.
Deputy Perido unhitched the horse and took him away to be groomed and watered. Paul had driven her hard to make it here so quickly. It had now been over six hours since Jonesy's death.
After eight hours anything could happen. Chief Jaimez didn't think so, but he didn't know that Jonesy took the syrup with every cup of red tea. Because that's what this wasn't it? That's what caused something to happen to each of them when they died. The tea or the syrup created some superior immune system that didn't know how to stop surviving once the heart stopped beating. Science, not a curse.
Paul and Chief Jaimez carried Jonesy's body into the barn.
"Are you sure about this? They only asked for his head," Chief Jaimez grumbled to Paul.
Paul nodded.
"All I could find large enough was this empty pickle barrel. It still smells of pickles."
They set Jonesy inside knees bent and tilted his head up. They filled all the empty space around him with coffee beans and nailed the lid shut. Then they readied the barrel for shipping using the Atlanta Georgia address from the slip of paper found on the killers.
The four bodies of the killers had been burned Jai` Doro style, even though they would never have returned from death. No one wanted the killers buried in the Jai` Doro Cemetery.
The phone call Al made to Mr. Kingsley implied they would be leaving Jai` Doro shortly after the call. If they got lost, it would be somewhere else along the way.
Paul left his horse cart at Chief Jaimez's barn and walked home. Jonesy had been dead for nearly eight hours now. It didn't matter anymore. He was secured inside the barrel. It was packed too tightly for him to move.
Bodero was the next town away from Sao Cachito. A little bigger. A little more hustling. They had a shipping facility to send packages across the ocean. The two Jai' Doro police officers would leave for Bodero in the morning and send Jonesy off on his journey to the United States. Eventually he would end up on a boat that would take him to Florida. He wouldn’t go home to Kentucky like he had said. Instead, from Florida a truck or train would take him to the address in Atlanta Georgia where someone waited for his arrival.
He didn't remember about Jonesy's letter until he undressed for bed that night.
****
Dear Paul,
If you are reading this, then I am most certainly dead. I don't know how I died; I only know that my death looms imminent.
I know you don't believe in such things, but you were not born and raised in Hillsdale Kentucky. We were raised from children to believe and to watch for signs, because if you look for them, they are everywhere.
In many ways my life has diminished already. I live all my waking hours in fear and regret. Some unknown person is coming to kill me for the mistakes I have made. He waits just around the next corner or somewhere behind me. Would they kill me as I slept? I wake in the night listening and sleep with a lamp on.
I'd been living with these fears for quite some time. Since my family was killed. Since I moved to Sao Cachito. Even more so after Paul the bartender was murdered.
When they finally came for me, I should have been relieved.
Instead I panicked and betrayed my only friend. All I could think about was the safe in your office, filled with all that money, and how it could save me.
Before I could stop myself, I was telling them how they could become rich. They wouldn't need Smokey Ray Kingsley anymore. It was only burble and babble but to my horror, they believed me. They forced me to go with them at gunpoint, but somehow, I got away from them just as they arrived in Jai` Doro.
I drove the horse and cart back to Sao Cachito, running for my life. But I realized there was nowhere to run, so I sat in my chair waiting for whoever would come for me. As I sat there, I imagined a variety of outcomes. None were good.
It was the second night of waiting that I dreamed I went home to Hillsdale Kentucky. My whole family was there to greet and welcome me. Even Johnny Martin was there. The only thing changed was me. I was ready to welcome myself back. I woke up in peacefulness. I woke up knowing that I was to die before I slept again.
Omens surrounded me. A black butterfly in the room as I sipped on the red tea. A black dog looking me full in the face, out my door, and two women to the right of me and two men to the left were all saying goodbye.
Today was my day to be saying my goodbyes.
So, I write this goodbye to you Paul. I am sorry for my betrayal and hope no bad has come to you. I never meant no harm to anyone, yet I have hurt so many. No one will mourn for me when I am gone, but that is my own fault. I take responsibility for that. I see too late that my problems were never that I couldn't live up to the expectation's others had of me; but that I could never live up to my own.
I want to thank you and Linde for taking me in and accepting me as part of your family for the short time I was in Jai` Doro. I have not made much of my life, but one of my most cherished accomplishments, and what I consider my one true blessing, was being Uncle Jonesy to your two boys.
When I am done writing this, I will leave it in an envelope here for you to find. Then I plan to go down to Ignacio's Pub and say my goodbyes there. I am not a gambler anymore. Not since arriving in Jai` Doro. I only play cards for the companionship. I bet small and for a little while I forget my fears and the terrible loneliness.
My prayers are for you my friend. I pray that you will find forgiveness and peace in your lifetime, and that you will learn to believe.
Your friend Jonesy
P.S. Please donate all my belongings to the Saint Escamilla Orphanage, especially the radio. There is also a little money left for them in the lining of my old rucksack. Perhaps they can sell my new tools from the shop tools and use the proceeds. I like to take walks down that way and hand out my meager winnings to all the kids lined up at their fence; I think they waited for me. They may miss me.
****
It wasn't difficult to subscribe to the Atlanta Herald. Paul applied for the subscription by telephone and after several transfers he was able to speak to a woman who was able to locate a route that would take the newspaper all the way to Jai` Doro. They shouted instructions at each other to be heard over the poor connection.
"You realize it could take three weeks or longer to get there don't you?" She yelled. "Some issues may not make it there at all. The transportation is unreliable in many areas. Sometimes weather is a factor."
Paul stated he understood the risks and used Western Union to send the payment.
All he had to do now was wait… wait and believe. Chief Jaimez did not believe.
"He is not one of us. He has not been here long enough for the change to occur."
Chapter 32
"Smokey" Ray Kingsley's headquarters occupied an entire block on the wrong side of downtown Atlanta. The store fronts contained a handful of legitimate businesses, a news stand, a small grocery, a bakery, a barbershop and a separate beauty parlor all owned by Smokey. In the back rooms and on the upper floors, less legitimate activities took place. His empire was known as the "Fortress of Clubs." Mainly gambling, and women, but there were other things. Things were bought, sold, and traded. Deals were made. There were reports of a secret incinerator where Smokey's adversaries got "smoked."
Smokey confined himself in what was referred to as the "Big Club." It held his office, and in his office sat a big desk. On the desk was a big ashtray holding the butts of cigarettes which he would not let anyone empty. The allegation was, when the incinerator smoked, so did Smokey. The ashtray kept tally. Hence, his nickname. His employees did not call him Smokey. They either called him Mr. Kingsley or Boss, depending on where they stood within the hierarchy.
He drank black coffee all day long. After noontime, he added whiskey to it. After the sun set, his drink became plain whiskey without the coffee. He kept a glass nearby and took little sips from it.
It was morning and Smokey was drinking black coffee, when there was a polite knock on his door. He invited whoever it was to come in. He had no reason not to, while in his club. He felt safe, no premonitions of danger; no forebodings of death.
Two of his "boys" struggled in with a wooden pickle barrel as Smokey looked on curiously.
"It's Christmas today Boss. Something you've been waiting for has finally arrived. Come all the way from South America."
Smokey stood. He'd been expecting this package. He'd been looking for this guy for a nearly a year now. One Mr. Frederick Jones.
That call came in from Al how long ago? Three weeks? Where were they? They said they were on their way back... but... Anyway, recompense at last.
If this was Jones head, it ought to be plenty ripe by now. It was in a pickle barrel, so maybe they pickled it. Who knows how they did things in South America? Regardless of how it was going to smell, he intended to have witnesses around to watch him open it. If possible, he intended to have Jones's head on display in the club as an example of the penalty for betrayal. Maybe he'd put it in a big pickle jar.
"Call the rest of the boys together. They need to see this."
Smokey liked to give the impression that he was a heartless killer, but he wasn't. He had other people carry out such duties. He had what he liked to call his fish, like Al.
The card games in the clubs were rigged. They made a little money, but mainly they were Smokey's bait to catch and reel in his fish. They'd start off with a few wins. Big wins. Smokey always introduced himself at this point. A kind fatherly figure. He would buy them a drink and ask them personal questions. Where do work? Where do you live? They were more than willing to talk at this point. They felt big.
The fish could swim away now with all the money and no hard feelings against them, but they rarely did. When they came back, the wins were never as big. Losses followed. They kept coming back. They were regulars now, friends. They were given a tab and their losses were added politely to their tab; always by the same dealer. A familiar friend.
Suddenly, there was a new dealer and Mr. Frederick Jones was asked to pay up.
"Time to balance the books," the new dealer told Mr. Jones as Smokey watched on, from the window in his office.
Mr. Jones paled. Said he didn't have it. The dealer showed a little anger. "What do you mean you don't have it?"
Smokey walked up. Put his arm around Jones and asked what the problem was. He walked off ushering Frederick Jones inside his office… had a girl bring in drinks. Smokey was drinking whiskey now. A bottle of beer for Mr. Jones.
They talked. Worked out a deal. Smokey would lend him the money. The interest would be high, but that was necessary. That's how things worked.
"How much do you need? Surely you need more than that. That will only cover your loss. However, will you pay me back? You need capital son, to start a profitable business. Something that will ensure you enough income to pay back your loan, but I can see from your face that you haven't thought this out."
And here was when Smokey, looked the disappointed father.
"I'll tell you what. I never do this, but I like you. I will loan you five thousand dollars. That's the
maximum of what I loan. I will defer the payment for an entire month. That gives you enough money to settle your debt at the table, and capital enough to start something up. If you hold back a few payments, this will give you even more time. I believe in you Frederick."
Smokey never expected Jones to pay him back. He expected to see him back here in his office in a few months' time, groveling and desperate, begging for more time. But Smokey wouldn't give him more time or more money. Instead he would arrange for Jones to work off his debt. He would hire him on as one of his fish.
Jones took the deal with a big smile. They shook hands. He was given an envelope brought in by one of the prettiest girls. She smiled at Frederick.
Jones walked up to the card table and paid off his tab. He sat at the bar and bought a few rounds of drinks for the club. When he said goodnight, he thanked Smokey for the chance to prove himself, addressing him as Mr. Kingsley, shaking his hand. Then he vanished into the night, never to be seen again with five thousand dollars of Smokey's money.
It was time. The boys were assembled. Smokey was handed a hammer to pry out the nails that held the lid. Before he pulled out the last nail, the top of the pickle barrel burst open on its own.
****
Crime Lord Dies from Animal Bite
"Smokey" Ray Kingsley, considered one of Atlanta's most dangerous organized crime leaders, has been confirmed dead from complications stemming from what doctors will only say was "an animal bite of an unknown animal."
"We are not convinced this is a dog bite despite what witnesses say. The bite marks are unlike any dog bite we've ever examined. If I were to guess I would most likely compare this bite to a tiger or some other wild cat. Some people think that they can keep these types of exotic animals as pets because they are playful and cute when they are young. It never works out. It is also against the law. Also, we want to clarify that this is not a case of rabies."
Kingsley was hospitalized on Tuesday with high fever and painful muscles. It was thought to be a case of influenza until the exam revealed the home-bandaged animal bite and began investigations. Kingsley was bitten several days before arriving for treatment at the Franklin Valley hospital.
