by Andrew Allan
Ten minutes later I pulled up to a modest strip plaza that housed a hair salon, a pawnshop, and Arch Gagnon’s office. I parked away from the building and just watched it for a few moments. A gaggle of country women with big asses, tight t-shirts, and wedged, bleach blonde hair cuts waddled out of the hair salon. They talked their way over to a cluster of SUVs, appeared to make future plans, then drove off in different directions. Meanwhile, a skinny black man exited the pawnshop with a weed whacker. He looked very pleased with his purchase.
I was procrastinating. Not sure why. I was out of energy. The week, the fighting, the battle with Luther and Remy had taken it out of me. A physical confrontation wasn’t my top concern with Arch. But, I would need enough gusto to add force to my delivery and make clear his loss was inevitable. Time to get it over with, even if I had to wing it.
The truck door creaked open as I stepped out. I scanned the parking lot – still paranoid, perhaps – as I walked up to the front of Arch’s office.
It had an all glass façade with white vinyl lettering across the door and a white vinyl Seal of the State of Florida along with his title. Campaign posters were taped across the windows. You couldn’t miss them.
A deep breath and I yanked the door open.
It was quiet and still inside. No movement, no sound except the hum of the air conditioning. No one greeted me.
I stopped short and caught my breath. The secretary greeted me. She was blood red and dead on the floor next to her desk. Brain and bone chunks drizzled down the filing cabinet. Papers she had been carrying were scattered and splattered. A red bullet hole glistened between her eyebrows. She was young and innocent. Bastards.
I pulled out the knife and peered deeper into the office. There was no sign of life.
My feet made no sound as I walked further into the space.
A phone rang and I jumped. Then, I ducked behind a cubicle divider and waited. No one answered. Eight rings, then silence. I got the feeling no one else was in the office. No one alive.
I hesitated. What horrible mess would I find next? It’s not like I wasn’t used to seeing dead bodies at this point. Nothing could have been worse than Teddy’s dead head looking up from the floor at his own decapitated corpse. The notion nagging at me was disappointment—disappointment that I might not get my confrontation with Arch. That this silly hunt would go on.
It’s like when you’re in grade school and you dread having to speak in front of the class. But, then the class runs out of time and you have to sweat through an entire weekend before you can get the presentation over with that next Monday. I didn’t know how much fight I had left in me. And, I was just ready for it to be fucking over already. Please.
Deeper into the office. I recalled the hours posted on the glass door behind me. Business hours had ended for the day. There weren’t going to be many people in here. Or bodies. Most of the office appeared in order. An older couple smiled at me from a framed photo atop one of the desks.
I reached Arch’s office. The door was open, but I didn’t go in. I scanned the room first. The person who killed the secretary may not have left. It could have been Arch. I nudged the door open with my shoe. It squeaked on its hinges until it knocked against the wall. I looked through the gap. No one was hiding behind the door.
Five steps into the room and I knew I was alone. Any spot where someone could hide was exposed for viewing. And, they couldn’t be waiting for me under the desk. That spot was already occupied.
By Arch Gagnon’s dead body.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
ARCH HAD BEEN shot in the head. It was a big mess. His bloody face was pressed against brown carpet growing browner with the absorption of his blood.
His butter yellow suit vibed no taste and no shame. He looked like a bigmouth who loved attention, but with a pay grade that couldn’t afford much respect. He represented the smallest county in the state, after all. That didn’t seem to be a prestigious position. No wonder he was so happy to promote his brothers’ bloody work. One could make a lot of money delivering taboo favors. And, once someone enlisted his services, that person – like Wingart – could be blackmailed for more. And, that’s what gave Arch Gagnon serious skin in the game. I suspected he played that card every chance he had. Power and ambition. It had been within his reach. All it took was a little bit of murder.
Blood was splattered on the wall behind his desk. I shut the office door and started rifling thorough his papers. Too much to read now and I didn’t want to be found hanging around a crime scene. I grabbed a cardboard filing box and tossed them in along with everything on his desk and everything on the table behind it. I was careful to touch as little as possible.
Frisking this corpse, I grabbed his wallet and searched the pockets. I checked his desk drawers. Locked. Keys from Arch worked. More files inside. I stuck them upright at the end of the box so they’d stand out. Locked drawer equals important info. I hoped it was the important info I needed.
I grabbed the box and stepped towards the door. As I exited, I glanced back and saw a briefcase sitting on the floor next to a shelving unit. I went back and grabbed that, too. Then, I looked down at poor, old dead Arch Gagnon. French Archibald. I was relieved knowing the four men I had needed to stop were all as stopped as any man could be. I hoped that meant the end of this nightmare was near.
Then again...who killed Arch? And, why? And were they going to come after me? What if Arch and the boys worked for a larger power? What if they had been compelled to kill? That seemed unlikely. Luther, Remy, and Clovis clearly relished killing. And, Arch was from the same psychotic gene pool.
Had they wronged someone who’d caught up to them before I could? Were there more people in the same fix as me? My gut wasn’t buying it. But, I had no other clear answers.
What I did know was that I needed to get out of Arch’s office fast.
Arch’s phone rang. But, none of the other phones in the office did. Someone was calling Arch’s private line. I stopped, waited, and listened. The answering machine clicked on and played aloud.
“You’ve reached my hot line. Can’t answer or assist you at the moment, but please do call my cell phone if it’s of great importance...” said the pre-recorded message.
I set the box of files down, ran over to Arch, and double-checked his jacket pockets. There...cell phone. I tossed it in the box. For the third time I started to exit his office.
A male voice came on the answering machine. It sounded haggard, like the caller was struggling to get the words out. “Archibald...” he said.
I knew that voice. I knew that accent.
Luther wasn’t dead.
CHAPTER FIFTY
SO, THE FIGHT wasn’t over. I ignored the depression rolling over me and focused on Luther’s message. He spoke in angry French. I had no idea what he was talking about. But, I did catch a name.
Wingart.
What did he want with him?
I couldn’t stick around to find out.
I threw the box of files into the truck. Next, I took Arch’s keys, matched the make on the key fob with the only Lexus I could find in the parking lot, and opened it up. Front seat, back seat, trunk. Just a few small slips of paper. They didn’t tell me much. I got out of there. No one at the hair salon knew there were dead bodies next door. They would soon enough.
I drove Highway 100 East to Starke then broke north up 301 to Highway 16 towards Camp Blanding. I had no destination in mind. But, I was taking back roads to throw anyone who might be looking for me of my tail. That included Luther.
A gas station convenience store offered more to eat than candy bars and pork rinds. I paid with cash from Arch’s wallet. He wouldn’t need it. After stocking up, I took my food back to the truck where I ate and perused Arch’s files. Much of it was political business. Despite his dirty work, he did seem to have his constituents best interests in mind. Memos about farming, highway renovations, money for an extreme power sports arena the city fathers expected would turn Lake Butler into a mecca for suc
h enthusiasts.
But, there was nothing on his father, brothers, Wingart, or the execution scheme. He knew the deal. In this business, the only thing his team executed were people, not contracts. It was strictly whispers and handshakes.
Once I had the notion the rest of the paper files weren’t going to shed light I tossed them back in the box. I skimmed through Arch’s black contact book. Plenty of names and numbers. Some numbers without names. Just initials. That could be important. I set the book on the dash opened to those pages.
Arch’s phone rang.
It startled me, even though his ringtone was a bland new country song.
I didn’t answer.
The phone stopped ringing. I waited and watched to see if a voice mail notification would pop up. Two minutes later, it did. But, when I tried to access it I couldn’t get through the password protection. I tossed the phone on the seat.
A small key on Arch’s key ring got me into his briefcase. First grab was a couple of folders filled with memos regarding upcoming legislation. Next grab, a small leather change purse. It was filled with condoms. You’re a dirty dog, Arch.
A loose scrap of paper in the bottom of the briefcase caught my eye. An address was written on it: 860 Centurion Drive, Jacksonville Beach, FL 32250
Jacksonville was Wingart’s turf.
Presuming Arch had written the address down, it meant he was either going there or sending someone there. That made it a place I needed to be.
I bypassed the interstate to Jacksonville, which meant taking smaller roads and more time to get to The River City. I arrived from the southwest and drove up through the Five Points district then into the heart of downtown, which always seemed to be deserted.
Jacksonville is weird. It had a ton of potential despite what I perceived as a complete lack of municipal personality. But, I never disliked going there. The massive St. John’s River chugged along right next to it leading out to the east coast beaches and then the Atlantic Ocean. It was unlike any other part of Florida.
After weaving through a string of gentrified neighborhoods, I cut east towards the beach. Zip code 32250. Executiveland. Exactly where I’d expect to find a politician.
Large, stately houses. Golf cart lanes. Signs pointing the way to a private country club. I hated the neighborhood the second I rolled into it. It was predictable and boring. Oh, well. I assumed its occupants hated me for driving this obnoxious truck past their manicured lawns. I didn’t stick around to get their thoughts.
I pulled up to the address on Centurion Drive. There it was, just like all the other houses. The lawn team had done their work well. No hedge looked overgrown. No sign it housed a murderer.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
A NEW MODEL Mercedes sat in the driveway next to its golf cart equivalent. I wondered if Wingart had splurged with money he made off the ITG execution deal. I noted the golf clubs on the back of the cart. They’d be great for smashing in the car windows.
I crossed the street and walked up to the house. I didn’t even bother concealing the big buck knife. Instead of knocking on the front door I walked in through the open garage. A beep signaled my entrance and a dog started barking. A moment later a scrappy Shih Tzu ran over and sniffed my shoes. I let it do what it liked and kept my eyes on the kitchen before me.
“What’d you forget, Carol? I told you stay gone until...” Wingart stopped when he saw me. “What are you doing here?”
I took in the vast kitchen, which led to a sprawling, sunken living room. The walls were lined with a menagerie of taxidermied big game heads. In the far corner stood a stuffed and posed grizzly bear next to an elephant foot stool. I pictured many “guy’s nights” here, playing poker, drinking fine scotch, and comparing mistresses while looking out at the water.
“Bet you’re damned surprised to see me again,” I said.
He nodded.
“Don’t do it,” I said. He stopped moving towards the alarm box on the wall. “We don’t need to invite anyone else.”
He glanced down at my knife. It spooked him.
“Well, I don’t know what you want with me. I gave you a head start in Tallahassee, just like I promised,” he said. He leaned casually against the island kitchen counter and folded his arms.
“But, then you told Arch and the boys I’d escaped,” I said.
Fascination flashed across his face. He hadn’t expected this. “I told you I would. I had to make sure they didn’t come after me,” he said.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” I said.
“I’d say. They know none of this is my fault and I did everything to keep the operation quiet. I even went a step further to remind them that their sloppy work is what caused the exposure. But, as long as you were taken care of there would be no more problems,” he said.
“Well, they tried.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they tried. And, failed.”
He frowned, not quite getting it. “Well, that would explain why you’re here.”
“And, why they’re dead.”
That one hit him. His jaw dropped with surprise. But, he forced a smile.
“Really?”
“Well, all but one. Luther,” I said.
“You really did find out a lot. Congratulations,” he said. “I am very impressed. To track them down while there’s a manhunt on for you, that takes skill. And, some balls.”
“That would mean something if it wasn’t coming from trash like you,” I said. My blood boiled. I swung the blade down into the wooden edge of the counter causing damage.
He glared at it but stifled his irritation. I knew he was wondering if I knew how much a countertop like that cost. I didn’t and I didn’t care.
Excitement from a sudden brainstorm whisked him back onto his feet, his hands on his hips.
“Well, hot damn! This is good news for both of us,” he said. He saw that I wasn’t understanding him so he elaborated. “If they’re dead, they can’t kill you and you can pin all the murders on them. You’re gonna be a free man! And, so am I because those heathens won’t be able to strong arm me anymore, and I can get back to serving my constituents!” He was thrilled with this turn of events. Who the hell uses the word ‘heathen’ these days?
“That’s how this whole mess started. You serving Tanjeris,” I said.
He nodded, yeah, well okay.
“You know what I mean. The people. I work for the people. Frankly, I am very relieved this nightmare has ended,” he paused then looked at me as if a magnificent idea had just been born from a tiny golden acorn inside his mind. “And you...you helped end it.”
He approached me. I twirled the knife as a reminder. He stopped approaching.
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
I shook my head.
“You’re no criminal. You’re a hero! And, I’m going to make sure the governor knows all about it. You’re not going to have to worry about a thing,” he said in triumphant fashion.
After years of selling on television, there’s one thing I know: People aren’t dumb. They like to buy, but they don’t like to be sold to. I was being sold to.
“Bullshit,” I said.
“Not bullshit! Not at all,” he said.
“You’re covering your ass. Your money was on them. Now, it’s on me.”
“From what you’ve said, it sounds like the game is over. You’ve won.”
“What about Luther? He’s the most dangerous. And, he’s still alive.”
He started pacing around the island counter.
“Him. I met him once. A brute. Barely speaks English. Can’t hardly form an expression on his face let alone articulate. Not very friendly,” he said. “Arch was the brains. The others, just helpers. I think the brother, Remy? He made all the weapons.” He continued pacing, his body language getting into the story now.
“Arch approached me with the whole set up. He was just a nobody state rep in the smallest county in Florida. When you’re that smal
l, you need to make a lot of deals to get any kind of power up at the capital. Fortunately for him, he had one powerful bargaining chip – his brothers. The state executioners. And, he knew it. Cocky son of a buck.”
“Were you the first one he approached?” I said. I needed the full story.
“No. He’d worked with a few others. By the time he got to me he had his pitch down. And, a mutual acquaintance referred him. He came in knowing I had a problem,” he said.
“Tanjeris.”
“Tanjeris,” he nodded.
“And, you liked the solution he offered.”
“Well, no. Of course not. I do not like that kind of dirty business.”
“But...”
“I mentioned it casually to Tanjeris and he liked the idea. A lot. In fact, when I tried to brush it off he wouldn’t let it go. And, he let me know just what it would mean to me if I didn’t take his interests to heart,” he said.
“Okay, skip ahead. I already know you’re a greedy fuck. What I need to know is who else hired the Gagnons to kill?” I said, waving off the rest of his story.
“The who?”
“The Gagnons. That was their last name.”
“Oh, Arch. Okay, yes. Well, I don’t know all their business. I just had the one deal with them,” he said.
“The guy who referred Arch to you. What’s his name?”
Wingart looked a little queasy.
“I don’t think I can tell you that,” he said. “The Gagnons...” he smiled and gestured wanting me to recognize and be impressed that he’d remembered their name. “...are gone. There’s not going to be anymore killing. I don’t think we need to throw anyone else to the wolves.”
“Because you’re worried they’ll rat you out,” I said.
His hesitation told me I was right.
“But, look...you can find out from Luther who they killed then you can pin those murders on them without exposing me,” he offered.
