Blood-Stained Kings

by Tim Willocks

  “I was hoping you might bring her, for a last visit.”

  “I figure she’s with my father,” replied Grimes. “I never met her.”

  “Are you telling me they’re coming here?”

  “Probably. I showed George your letter,” said Grimes. “He got to her first.”

  A curious light came into Jefferson’s eyes. He had looked at Grimes the same way when he’d first entered the parlor. Jefferson pulled his hand out empty; whatever he meant to give Ella he left in his pocket.

  Grimes said, “If they do show, tell them to stay out of trouble until I get back home. And don’t rile George. He’s armed and paranoid and he doesn’t have my patience. He’ll also be disappointed not to get these.” He nodded at the cases. “Is there anything in them could hurt Lenna?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I guess there’s not much more you could do to her anyway.”

  Jefferson’s gaze did not flicker.

  Grimes said, “Until I met Lenna I thought Ella was your daughter.”

  Jefferson said, “Ella is mine. I made her so.”

  It was as well Grimes hadn’t brought Lenna along. He couldn’t imagine her not beating Gul to Jefferson’s throat. He wondered what kind of a man it was that could steal a babe still screaming for the first embrace of her mother’s arms. In a sense he already knew, for he knew Jefferson; not in any way he could articulate, but deeply just the same. More mysterious to him was why Jefferson had not fulfilled his brief to kill the child; that he could have done so without blinking, Grimes didn’t doubt.

  “You were meant to kill Ella,” said Grimes. “Why didn’t you?”

  Jefferson’s lips curved in a totemic smile.

  “Because something in the earth called upon me not to.”

  Grimes turned away from the smile.

  Jefferson said, “Afterwards, you know, Lenna and I became lovers.”

  Grimes hoped that the lurch in his guts didn’t show on his face.

  “Didn’t she tell you?” said Jefferson.

  “Why would she?” said Grimes.

  He could imagine why Lenna had surrendered herself to the perverse comfort of Jefferson’s arms, why she might need it; it was a fitting punishment for the guilt that had scourged her and scourged her still. The unremitting extremity of that guilt, on the other hand, Grimes could not imagine.

  “Don’t think badly of her, Grimes.”

  “I don’t,” said Grimes. “Nor would I, ever.”

  “As you said, she is a dancer.”

  “Yes,” said Grimes. “She is.”

  Jefferson held his left hand out.

  “Good luck in Washington. You’ll be a hero at last.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Grimes took the massive hand with his right and squeezed it.

  Jefferson said, “Wrap up warm, Grimes.”

  And in Jefferson’s face Grimes saw things, and in his own chest he felt things, that he would rather not have seen or felt. He let go of the hand, grabbed the cases and walked across the yard toward the Lincoln without looking back. Gul trotted by his side. The dog looked up at him with his sad eyes.

  “Cheer up,” said Grimes. “We get this stuff to D.C., it’s over, man, we’re gone. Wyoming. Just you and me.”

  Gul barked gruffly.

  “No. Lenna can look out for herself. What the fuck can a pair of clowns like us do?”

  Gul barked again.

  “Okay,” said Grimes. “You’re right. One step at a time, like before.”

  Grimes loaded the cases into Daggett’s car. In an hour it would be dark. He tried not to but he couldn’t help it: as he opened the passenger door and let Gul clamber in, Grimes looked back toward the Old Place.

  The porch was empty. Clarence Jefferson had gone.

  Grimes climbed in the car and Holden Daggett drove them back through the impending dusk.

  TWENTY-THREE

  GRIMES AND DAGGETT didn’t speak much on their way back to town. Grimes told Daggett that Jefferson needed medical treatment and Daggett said he knew, but Jefferson wasn’t a man to be argued with once his mind was made up. Then Grimes asked Daggett how long he’d known the Captain.

  “As a client—boy and man—nearly forty years,” replied Daggett. “Clarence was ten years old. His father died in, well, circumstances. His mother sent him away, down South, didn’t want anyone to know where he came from. I arranged it all. Before me, my own father represented the family. That’s the way things tend to go around here.”

  Grimes asked, “You know what’s in the suitcases in the trunk?”

  “That may or may not be my affair,” said Daggett. “Either way it isn’t my place to discuss it.”

  “I just didn’t want you to be at risk without your knowing it,” said Grimes.

  “Let’s say I know as much as I need to know, no more, no less. Nobody’s holding a gun to my head and I’m not breaking any laws or ethics, nor would I, for anyone. But I appreciate your concern.”

  When they reached Mrs. Stapleton’s place Grimes got out of the car with Gul and went around to Daggett’s window.

  “Am I good for one last favor?” asked Grimes.

  “You can try,” replied Daggett.

  “Those suitcases weigh a ton. Can I leave them in your car until I arrange some transport out of town?”

  Daggett removed his straw boater, took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the leather brim.

  “We are but slaves to fate, chance, kings and desperate men,” he said.

  “Fellow travelers, maybe,” said Grimes, “but not slaves.”

  “That makes it harder,” said Daggett.

  “I guess,” said Grimes.

  Daggett sighed and put his straw hat back on.

  “I’ll be at my office for a couple of hours. Any later than that, you’ll find me at home.”

  “I’m obliged,” said Grimes.

  “Funny thing,” mused Daggett, “the way some folk can get beneath your skin.”

  Grimes knew that he meant Clarence Jefferson.

  “Yes,” he replied. “It is.”

  “I’ll be seeing you,” said Daggett.

  “Thanks.”

  Daggett drove away and Grimes felt some of the pressure lift from his shoulders. He had the suitcases. At least George wouldn’t be running around with them. Just before he went indoors he remembered to transfer his revolver to the back of his pants.

  Inside he talked with Mrs. Stapleton for a few minutes while she fussed over Gul and how beautiful his eyes were and how much her husband would have liked him. As she fed Gul water and scraps she told Grimes that his wife, Lenna, had gone into town and Grimes was neither worried nor surprised. She’d be in the diner. He went to check their room and found it empty and his note gone, then he told Mrs. Stapleton that they’d be moving on that evening. He reassured her that the room had been fine and her hospitality wonderful and paid her more than she asked him. Then he went into the parlor, took from his pocket the card that Titus Oates had given him and called the number.

  The phone rang several times before it was answered and Grimes almost gave up. Then there was a click and a large voice boomed into Grimes’s ear.

  “Who the fuck is this?” Oates sounded disturbed.

  “It’s Grimes,” said Grimes.

  “What the fuck, man? I’ve got four shotguns pointing at my fucking balls and one of them, I’ve just been reminded, is loaded with deer slugs. These guys already got me working for the AT&F. What the fuck you tryin’ to do to me?”

  Grimes realized he’d interrupted Oates in the middle of his expedition to purchase bootleg whiskey in the backwoods. He thought he could hear a second man breathing near the receiver. It seemed to Grimes that it was best to play it straight.

  “I just wanted to give you some more flying business.”

  “Jesus,” said Oates, heavily.

  “When can you get back to the airfield?” asked Grimes.

  “Listen, cousin
, I’ve been driven around half the afternoon in a fucking blindfold. I’m not even sure what state I’m in. You any idea how easy it is to lose a corpse out here?”

  “Don’t get overexcited,” said Grimes. He thought of the second listener. “Those guys are just exercising their constitutional right to keep and bear arms, same as the rest of us. I’m sure they’re men of honor.”

  “Of course they’re fucking men of honor. That’s why they lost the Civil War.”

  “How soon can you get back?”

  There was a pause and Grimes heard a distant murmur of conversation.

  “An hour, maybe more, depending on how long we’re down to haggling,” said Oates.

  “Don’t let me down,” said Grimes. “And watch out for the deer slugs.”

  “Ten-four and fuck your mother.”

  The line went dead.

  Grimes sorted a schedule in his mind. He’d go and find Lenna, then Daggett could drive them out to the airfield. It was now around the time that George and Ella could be expected to turn up, assuming they’d made good time. Grimes decided not to wait or look for them. Traveling alone made everything simpler. He would even have preferred to leave Lenna somewhere safe, but he knew she wouldn’t agree to that. He was satisfied that if George and Ella did make it to the Old Place, then Jefferson wouldn’t harm them. So Grimes fetched Gul, let Mrs. Staple ton kiss him goodbye and walked the road into town for the second time that day.

  All in all things were working out as well as he could have hoped. He was confident that he could get Jefferson’s anvil of justice to Washington, D.C., and unload the cases, anonymously, on some hotshot journalist who would go on to win the Pulitzer Prize and be played by Tom Cruise in the movie. Maybe they could get Bob Hope out of retirement to play Cicero Grimes; except that Grimes had no intention of letting his name be known. He discovered that he had no curiosity at all as to what exactly the cases contained. The less he knew the better.

  Lenna’s problem with Faroe was another matter. Right now Faroe seemed, thankfully, a long way away. Lenna would have to deal with it later. Probably her best option would be to throw herself on the mercy of the law. She could afford the lawyers and it would be a hard-hearted jury that would find against her. As for Filmore Faroe, his arm was long and his pockets were deep, but even if he could manipulate the law he couldn’t survive a thousand hours’ exposure on TV. Maybe George was right, thought Grimes. Maybe this was a great country after all.

  Grimes reached the diner on Main and peered through the windows. He saw nobody he recognized but he couldn’t see all the tables. He told Gul to sit outside and stay cool and then popped in. He described Lenna to the waitress and the waitress remembered her because she’d left a ninety-dollar tip, which the waitress assured him she was prepared to return if the lady had made a mistake. The waitress told him that Lenna had left with an older man and a young Negro woman. For a moment Grimes’s heart went out to Lenna. Seeing Ella for the first time must have been an ordeal. That explained the mistaken tip; he told the waitress to keep it and left.

  Gul stood up and looked at him.

  “I figure they’ve gone out to the Old Place,” said Grimes. “I guess we’ll have to go get them.”

  They walked down Main toward Daggett’s office. The sun had disappeared behind the buildings. Things were less good than before but still fair to middling. There was no need to panic. Daggett’s car was parked outside his office, sixty yards away. As they passed the entrance to a bank, the door to Daggett’s office opened and Daggett stepped out. Grimes was about to call to Daggett when a second man emerged behind him. Before he’d worked out why, an instinctive paranoia made Grimes dodge sideways and out of sight into the wide granite doorway of the bank.

  “Gul.”

  Gul followed him.

  “Good man. Sit.”

  Grimes peered cautiously down the street. The guy with Daggett was wearing a baseball cap and a green FALCONS windbreaker with a satin finish. It was the same guy who had spoken to Grimes and Gul on the bench. His right hand was bunched in his pocket and pointed, awkwardly, at Daggett. Daggett’s stiff body language, as he opened the Lincoln’s trunk, suggested that he was not doing so voluntarily. The Falcons fan looked in the trunk and nodded and said something. Daggett slammed the lid and got into the car. The Falcons guy glanced briefly up and down the street then climbed into the passenger seat. Daggett’s Lincoln started up and moved off.

  Grimes stepped out into the street.

  He had no idea exacdy what the fuck was going on but it was bad. He didn’t know where the Falcons guy was taking Daggett. The suitcases were gone. The Falcon was only one man, but he changed the picture. George and Lenna and Ella were now in danger. Grimes had to get to the Old Place and pull everyone out, get them to the crop-duster’s field and Titus Oates’s plane. Grimes needed a car.

  He looked up and down Main. At the far end, in the direction Daggett had taken, was a gas station.

  “Come on,” said Grimes.

  He ran, with Gul loping without effort a foot to his right. Within a hundred yards, too many Pall Malls and the months he’d spent on the floor eating junk started to get to him. He told himself he deserved it and pushed on. By the time he lumbered into the gas station and past the pumps his lungs felt as if someone were tearing strips of adhesive tape from their inner surface. To one side of the glass-fronted office he was relieved to see a Ford pickup. He walked the last few yards, opened the office door and barged in.

  Behind the counter was a young guy wearing a faded BLACK CROWES T-shirt and some kind of Stetson decorated with a Stars and Bars badge. The guy ignored Grimes and looked down at Gul with wide eyes.

  “Hey, cool animal,” said the guy.

  “Thanks,” said Grimes.

  “You wanna sell him?”

  “He’s not mine to sell. But I’d like to rent your truck for a couple of hours.”

  “Sorry, friend, it’s not mine to rent.”

  “It’s urgent,” said Grimes. “Very urgent. I can pay you a hundred bucks.”

  “Hey. I’m not trying to jerk you around. The truck belongs to my boss. I can’t do it.”

  “Two hundred,” said Grimes.

  “If it were mine you’d already have a deal. It’s that urgent I can call the cops for ya.”

  “No,” said Grimes. He fumbled for his money. “Three hundred.”

  “I’ve got a motorcycle out back,” said the guy. He pronounced it “motorsickle.”

  “A motorcycle?” said Grimes.

  “Genuine Electra Glide. 1973. Sucks up the curves like it’s working for the Lord hisself.”

  Grimes hadn’t ridden a motorcycle in nearly twenty years.

  “You don’t understand,” said Grimes. “I need a car. I need to take the dog with me.”

  “So?” said the guy. “I told you, that’s a cool animal.”

  On the lot behind the office, the young guy started the Harley for him and Grimes gave him three hundred dollars.

  “Obliged,” said the guy.

  Grimes swung into the saddle and took the handgrips. Despite his raw lungs and the fear for George and Lenna he couldn’t deny a thrill of pleasure. Then he remembered Gul. The dog was looking up at him with mild curiosity. Grimes slid back as far as he could, then slapped the saddle in front of him.

  “What are you waiting for?” said Grimes.

  Without hesitation Gul leapt up onto the saddle in front of Grimes and settled himself down across the wide gas tank as if it were a favorite spot in the sun.

  “Just forget he’s there,” advised the guy, “and he’ll be fine.”

  Grimes twisted a few revs through the engine and kicked away the stand.

  “You take care of him, now,” said the young guy cheerily

  “I’ll try,” said Grimes.

  “I was talking to the dog.”

  Gul barked.

  Cicero Grimes shrugged, engaged the clutch and roared off west toward the Ohoopee River bottomlands
.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ELLA DROVE ON for three miles beyond the cutoff to the west before she decided that she’d missed it. The last time she’d been out to the Old Place it had been winter and the landscape had looked different. Now it was heavy and green. She pulled the Jeep over, hung a U and headed back. It didn’t cost them more than ten minutes. Once they’d turned onto the cutoff she still wasn’t sure it was the right road until they crested the hill and the valley opened before them. The sun was a red disc sliced in half by the far horizon and the meadows rolling down toward the river were wild with flowers. It was prettier than she’d ever seen it. In the midst of the meadows stood the black silhouette of the Old Place. The silhouette brought a sadness to her throat, the thought of Charlie dead and the times he’d brought her here. She looked at George.

  “That’s it,” she said. “That’s the Old Place.”

  “You done good,” said George.

  From the backseat Lenna said, “How come you know this place?”

  Ella glanced over her shoulder. Lenna had the deepest eyes she’d ever seen; there was something in the way they looked at her that scared Ella a little. It wasn’t that she thought Lenna meant her any harm, but the look made her think of starvation, of a desperate hunger. At the same time Ella felt pulled in as if by a silent voice calling out from a dark cave. She would’ve liked to hang out with Lenna somewhere safe and ordinary, where they could relax a little more and talk, but that would have to wait. She looked back at the road and spoke over her shoulder.

  “I’ve been out here before, with Charlie,” answered Ella.

  “Charlie?” said Lenna.

  “Sorry, I mean Clarence Jefferson,” said Ella. “I always knew him as Charlie.”

  There was a dense silence from behind and Ella glanced into the rearview mirror. She could only see Lenna’s rosebud mouth. Ella thought she was beautiful. Lenna was biting her lip.

  “Did you know him a long time?” asked Lenna.

  “All my life I guess,” replied Ella. “I guess he was kind of an uncle to me.”

  The question hadn’t really left Ella’s mind all day: was Charlie her father? More than anything, more than getting the suitcases and going to Washington, she wanted to meet George’s son, Gene, and find out the truth.