by Phil Truman
This particular morning, though, Charlie DuFranc hadn’t made it by the park. Soc sat at his usual bench underneath a tall pin oak watching Little Wolf make his sniffing rounds.
Like that noble Native American warrior on the old TV public service spot back in the ’60’s who’d cry whenever he saw trash, Soc didn’t like litter either. He didn’t shed a tear like his actor brother, but he did make an effort to pick up any litter he saw in Veterans Park. On that morning, while he sat on his bench, he spotted a white sheet of paper plastered by the breeze up against the side of a boxwood shrub not twenty feet away. He retrieved it, but decided he’d wait to put it in the trash barrel later when he and Little Wolf left the park.
Soc casually looked at the paper, and was completely flabbergasted at what he saw. Across the top of the printed page the header read “Tsalagee Founders Day Committee Minutes, September 3, 2007Page 14.” And beneath it was the contorted writing of Nan Dorn.
Even out of context it read like the diary of a mad gossip columnist, and practically made no sense at all, although all of the people mentioned were real and alive... at least, at one time or another. Because he’d been there, he could tell the conversations she reported revolved around the committee’s discussion of the so-called Belle Starr Treasure, even in this twisted departure from the truth.
He read it over again, and laughed out loud, then laughed again until tears started to squeeze from the corners of his wrinkled old eyes. After what must’ve been several minutes of this, he heard a demanding “woof!” and looked down to see Little Wolf sitting and looking at him, his ears perked and his head cocked to one side in puzzlement.
“Ah, Wa ya,” he said to him. “I’ve found a priceless piece of historical fiction. Come on, let’s go home.”
As they exited the park on the McKinley Street side, Soc passed by the green trash barrel without depositing the sheet of paper. Instead he folded it twice and put it in his shirt pocket. He wanted to show it to his friend Hayward. He’d started to get an idea on how he could put it to good use.
Chapter 20
Hayward Hatches a Plan
Hayward took up golf late in life. Soc only took up golf because Hayward talked him into it. After he sold his land and dairy farm back in the Eighties, Hayward and his wife built a nice home with a pool just off the seventh fairway of the German Meadows Country Club’s Red Oak Course. The golf club and surrounding housing development had been built on Hayward’s former three hundred acres of rolling farm land.
Hayward tried to talk his friend Soc into moving into the new house and two acres next to his, but Soc declined. “Too crowded a neighborhood,” he gave as his reason. Soc continued to live on the small acreage Hayward had given him on one corner of his original farm property. The developer offered Soc an embarrassingly large sum of money for the small house and ten acres, but Soc refused to sell. “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me,” he told the white man.
One day, in their late sixties, Hayward invited his best friend to play a round with him. Soc scoffed at the idea, and told Hayward he thought the only good use for a golf club would be to pound snakes with it. Hayward, who by that time had been playing for over a year, and had paid for at least a score of lessons, told Soc he’d teach him everything he needed to know, and that once he started playing, he guaranteed him, he would love the game.
Soc remained skeptical, but as his friend continued with his begging, he eventually gave in. He figured, what the heck, all he would have to do was ride around in a golf cart for a couple of hours, drink a few beers, and enjoy the scenery.
Two things surprised Soc that day: he found Hayward’s guarantee about the game proved true, and he discovered he wasn’t half bad at it. After eighteen holes he was hooked. He also discovered something else—he could usually thump his friend at the game. That first day he beat Hayward by three strokes. Beginner’s luck, Hayward had told him. Most rounds in the twenty-some years since, his margins of victory came in at around five to ten strokes. Despite all the money Hayward had spent on lessons and the best equipment, his game never improved much. Soc had long ago figured out the difference between him and his friend on the golf course—Soc never took the game seriously; whereas, Hayward always did, and that’s why Soc scored consistently lower. Lightening Hayward’s money clip by fifty dollars or so every round they played also added to his enjoyment. It was, as they say, like taking candy from a baby.
“Dammit!” Hayward said. He’d just sliced his tee shot into the irrigation pond off the third fairway. He slammed his three wood into his bag and plopped into the cart next to Soc.
“I got something might cheer you up,” Soc said.
“What, bowling lessons?”
“No, this,” Soc said and handed Hayward the folded sheet of paper that he’d found in the park.
Hayward unfolded and looked at the paper and then at his friend. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Read it,” Soc said.
Hayward began reading and, as he did, a grin started to creep across his face. “Where’d you get this?” he asked.
“Found it in the park. Must’ve blown out of Nan’s car.”
Hayward chuckled and scanned the paper again. “This sounds like authentic Nan Dorn minutes awright. Don’t think anyone but her could make this stuff up.” He shook his head. “Bill Ganns? That man’s been dead for twenty years... And Woody Cabrino? Holy cow. Now there’s a name out of the past.” He folded the paper and handed it back to Soc. “Thanks, pal. That sure cheered me up. It’s nice to know someone younger than me is addled and out of touch with reality.”
“Oh, I don’t think Nan’s addled. I think she just can’t hear and writes down what she thinks she hears. But I wanted to show you this because I think we can put it to good use.”
“Howzat?”
“You remember them guys I told you about who I met in the noodlin’ tournament? The two bikers?”
“Yeah. What about ’em ?”
“Well, the big ’un, the leader of the two, was asking me some curious questions. Seems he knows about the Belle Starr Treasure, and from the way he talked, he must have knowledge about that Ed Reed letter, too. I think the reason those two come to town was to look for that treasure. I also suspect they know something about Buck’s death. My gut tells me they may even be the ones killed him.”
“Hmph,” Hayward said. “Yeah, some things make sense, now that you say that.”
“What things?”
“Well, a week or so back them boys come into Arlene’s and nearly scared Jo Lynn to death. The big one was asking where Sunny Griggs lived. Something about wanting to go talk to her about her dad. Her real dad, that Goat fella. Jo Lynn didn’t believe ’em, and wouldn’t tell ’em. She said they kind of threatened her.”
“I heard about that,” Soc said. “I was talking to Charlie DuFranc about those two, and he told me he’d gone over to Arlene’s that day after Jo Lynn called the station. Said he checked ’em out, but there weren’t any outstanding warrants or anything. Charlie said he found both of them done some prison time at Big Mac a few years back. They ain’t exactly boy scouts. I told Charlie about my suspicions, and he’s keeping an eye on them... and Jo Lynn.”
Soc popped the brake pedal on the golf cart and mashed the foot feed, sending them whining down the cart path. “You still have the original Reed letter Punch gave you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Hayward answered. “I still need to hand that over to Euliss.”
“I been wondering how those two bikers knew about it and what it said.” Before Hayward could answer, Soc added, “The big one told me he got the info from a man in Oklahoma City.”
Hayward looked at Soc with perplexity. “Oh kay see? Humph.” He turned silent for a few seconds. “Ain’t that where Sunny lived before she come back? And didn’t her real daddy spend some time in Big Mac, too?”
Soc nodded and stopped the cart at a point beside the bank of the irrigation pond, roughly at the poi
nt where Hayward’s ball had splashed into it.
Hayward didn’t get out of the cart. “You reckon Sunny knows them two guys, and that’s got something to do with all this?” he asked.
Soc shrugged. “It could explain why they had info from the letter without actually having it. It could also explain why they were so interested in finding out where she lives. I guess she might’ve known something about it, living with Buck and Lorene all those years, although she claims she don’t.”
The two men sat thinking their own thoughts. “Still,” Soc continued. “Even as strange as she is, I don’t see Sunny hooking up with the likes of those two.”
After a bit Hayward asked, “So what you got in mind?”
“Well, my first thought was to Jo Lynn. I ’uz thinking we need to steer the two bikers away from her. She needs protecting,” Soc said. “I’d be hard to prove them two had anything to do with Buck’s murder, unless we come up with more evidence. Maybe we could find a way to get that, or at least get them arrested for something else.”
“Yeah, I suppose we could do that, only how we going to set this up?”
“I been thinking about that,” Soc said. “I think we should get Bobby John involved, only without giving him all the details. That boy has always been a pretty good pigeon.”
“Yeah,” Hayward said as he swung himself out of the cart and pulled his four iron out of his bag. He grabbed a new Titleist Pro V1 ball out of a pocket of his plaid shorts, and dropped it onto the close-cropped fairway grass. He’d started smiling the second Soc brought up Bobby John’s name. The thought of playing that little doughnut boy cheered him.
He stepped up and addressed the ball, and then squinted down the fairway at his intended target. “I think between the two of us we can come up with a good scheme where Bobby John can play a part.” Then he drew back the graphite-shafted four iron, which was part of his four thousand dollar set of clubs, and smacked the golf ball with it.
“Dammit,” Hayward said.
* * *
They didn’t get the specifics of the plan worked out through the remaining round of golf that afternoon, but Hayward and Soc did agree that, to make any plan work, it would be best not to let anyone else in on it. That held true not only for their intended marks, but semi-innocent bystanders as well, such as, Bobby John.
The next morning, as they sat on their designated counter stools at Arlene’s, and chatted with Jo Lynn, they maneuvered the conversation around to the subject of the two bikers.
“I just don’t like them,” Jo Lynn said.
“Have they bothered you since that first afternoon when they came in?” Hayward asked.
“Well, not in any real threatening way,” she said. “They’ve started coming in about every morning to have breakfast. The big one don’t bother me too much, other than looking at me like I could be his next victim, but that little one... what’d you say his name was?”
“Threebuck,” Soc answered.
“Yeah, that little creep.” She made a shuttering sound. “Why’re they hanging around town, anyway?”
Hayward shook his head and Soc shrugged, so Jo Lynn continued. “The big one keeps asking me about Sunny Griggs. I don’t much like that girl, but those two make me kind of scared for her. I wish they’d just stay over at the casino. I wish Charlie could find some reason to put ’em in jail, or at least run ’em out of town.”
Soc and Hayward glanced at each other. Hayward held his cup up to Jo Lynn for a refill and said, “Well, I expect they’ll run out of money at the casino sooner or later like everybody else, or get bored with all of us around here before long,”
“I hope you’re right,” Jo Lynn said as she poured coffee.
Soc excused himself and headed for the restroom. A minute or so later, the door opened and in walked Red Randy and Threebuck, as if on cue. Randy looked briefly at Jo Lynn, and headed for the booth in the corner away from the door. Threebuck stopped for a second to grin at her and wink. Jo Lynn turned away to go to the service window where Poncho had dinged up a breakfast order.
Hayward saw the fright in Jo Lynn’s eyes when the two came in, and he turned to look at them. He had a flash of an idea, and got up to go meet Soc when he came out of the john.
Hayward’s plan was embryonic, and he and Soc would have to wing it. He met Soc coming out the restroom door. “Look who just came in,” he said jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the two in the corner booth. Soc looked that way and grunted.
“I got sort of an idea,” said Hayward. “Let’s go sit in the booth next to them. Just play along with me.” He hoped the two bikers hadn’t noticed him when they came in.
Soc grunted again and nodded. He followed his friend to the booth. Hayward slid onto the bench putting him and Randy back-to-back. Soc sat on the bench opposite Hayward. Jo Lynn delivered Hayward and Soc’s cinnamon rolls and coffee. She gave them a quizzical look, but didn’t say anything; just moved to the bikers’ booth to take their orders. Hayward waited until Jo Lynn left before he started talking. He kept his voice in a conspiratorial tone, but tried to make it loud enough for Randy to hear.
“I ain’t exactly sure what we got here, but I dang sure know we can’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”
“What is it you think we got?” asked Soc, playing his part.
“This page from the committee minutes discusses a lot about the whereabouts of that Belle Starr Treasure. It don’t say specifically where it’s at, and it goes off in a lot of false directions, but what clues is in here could lead someone right to it.”
Hayward paused. Soc watched Randy lean a little further back and turn his head slightly to direct his right ear more toward Hayward. Soc smiled a little and winked at his partner.
Hayward continued. “I pulled this page out of the minutes so it couldn’t be made public. If this thing got out, this town would be overrun with treasure hunters.”
“Let me see it,” Soc said. Hayward handed him an unsealed envelope and Soc extracted the single sheet of paper.
“We got to keep it secret until after the Founders Day celebration,” said Hayward. “If this treasure is out there, it’s the town’s, not for some gang of thieves.”
“Unh,” Soc said again, as he pretended to read. “But this ain’t right,” he said.
“Whadda you mean?” Hayward asked. He gave Soc a puzzled look, not sure where his friend was going with this.
“There ain’t no ‘engraving’ as such,” Soc said, loud enough for Randy to hear. “Buck had an old deerskin he found among his Gramma Starr’s things. Apparently, his grampa, old Ned, had somehow put some words on that skin—Indin paint or sumpin—that kind of spelled out the clues in Ed Reed’s letter. Explained ’em.”
“Well, why in the hell would he do that?” Hayward asked, genuinely intrigued. He’d forgotten all this was fiction.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Soc looked back at his old friend with a furrowed brow and exasperation. He didn’t want to get into any whats and why fors. He just wanted their marks to stay curious. “I suppose he had his reasons.” Soc raised his right palm and waved it back and forth, indicating to his partner not to ask anymore questions.
“Well, this’s part of an official document,” Hayward said. “So I can’t destroy it, but I’m going to seal it up in an envelope, and when we leave here I’m going to take it to Samuel’s Real Estate office and ask Bobby John to keep it in his safe. I’ll mark the envelope ‘Winning Essay’ to avert suspicion. We’ll tell Bobby John it’s the winner of the high school Founders Day essay contest so he won’t get too nosey. We’ll put it back in the minutes when all this is over.”
Hayward took a sip of his coffee and pulled a napkin out of its chrome holder. He took a pen out of his shirt pocket and clicked the point out. He wrote on the napkin, We’ll wait until they’re ready to leave so they’ll follow us, and shoved it over to Soc. Soc read the note and nodded.
Ten minutes after Jo Lynn brought Randy and Threebuck their breakfast
orders, Punch walked through the door. When he spotted Hayward and Soc, he went to join them, avoiding Jo Lynn’s glare.
“Hey, Hayward,” he said and slid in next to him, bumping Hayward’s side as he did so. “Hey, Soc.” Hayward gave Punch an annoyed look and scooted over to give him room.
“What y’all doing sitting over here?” asked Punch in his not so quiet voice.
Hayward said, “Just wanted a change of scenery... in case you came in.”
Punch accepted that with a nod and moved on to his main reason for seeking Hayward. He lowered his voice a notch, “You give that Ed Reed letter to Euliss yet?”
“Not yet,” Hayward said, and gave him a shush gesture.
Punch, appearing not to notice, said, “Well, I told Sunny you had it and was giving it to the committee. She called Euliss who said she didn’t know nothing about it. Sunny thinks I still got it. When you going to give it to Euliss?”
“Today,” Hayward said with irritation. “In fact, I’m going to go do that right now. Let me out. C’mon Soc let’s go.” He feared Punch’s intrusion was going to blow everything, and knew the only way to get him to shut up was to leave. When Punch looked at him quizzically, Hayward said, “Move!”
The two elder men got out of the booth, paid up, and left the café. Punch watched them leave sitting back down to sort through Hayward’s strange behavior. The two men in the booth behind him had gotten up to leave, too, but the big one stopped to loom over Punch.
“Scuse me, but I overheard you talking about a Sunny. Would that be Sunny Griggs?”
Punch looked up at the big man. “Yeah,” he said. “Why, you know her?”
“No not really. Knew her old man. Old war buddy we’re trying to find. Kind of lost track of him. Wonder if you could tell us where she lives. We’d like to see if maybe he’s living with her.”
