Walking Woman (Gratis Book 2)

by Jackson, Jay

  “Wait, no. He’s not wearing red ones. They look black to me, like that suit he’s got on.”

  “Okay, that’s a good sign, real good. Is he wearing a top hat to hide his horns, or is his hair piled high like Dolly Parton? A real devil’s gonna use that trick.”

  “No, his hair is short, and he ain’t wearing no hat. What you thinkin’, Mr. D?”

  “I’m thinking he’s not the devil, but I can be at your house in fifteen minutes and make sure for you. Will you stay inside and wait for me? And do you have any more of those orange push-up ice creams in your freezer?”

  “We always have the push-ups—always.”

  “Then eat two of those push-ups real slow Jewel, and I’ll be there before you finish the second one.”

  Delroy hung up, then made his way through the house and out the front door. T-Bone tried to sneak out to come with him, but Delroy made sure he stayed inside. As Delroy got into his old Suburban, the little dog jumped up on the couch to watch through the window. He would be there, still watching, when Delroy came home.

  Going along with a client’s delusions may not be good legal practice, but Jewel was not most clients. She had a host of mental health problems, apparent from a young age, and a tendency to react with violence when she felt threatened. Her heart was good, but that didn’t make her violence any less present. At almost three hundred pounds, that violence could also be painful. Delroy was worried about her, but not as much as he was about this devil-man in the black suit.

  He drove until he came to a long stretch of land with nothing but a rickety fence to separate it from Cap Jackson Road. The old fence, smiling at the roadway like a gap-toothed first grader, stumbled along for a few hundred feet before ending at a rusty mailbox with a faded cardinal painted on the side. There he started down the long drive to the house where Jewel lived with her sister, Claudia.

  Delroy pulled up to see Jewel’s devil-man standing beside a long, black Audi sedan. The contrast between the new German car and the old house struck Delroy. Then he saw the car’s Fulton County tags.

  Asshole from Atlanta. Should have figured that.

  The devil-man stuck out his hand when Delroy approached and introduced himself. “Hello, my name is Racey Bridges. I’m here to speak with either Jewel or Claudia Peters about whether they would be interested in selling their land.”

  Delroy didn’t take the now-identified devil-man’s hand. Instead he went up to the door to let Jewel know he was there. When Racey tried to follow him, Delroy turned around and frowned. Racey stayed where he was—ten feet from his long, black car.

  “Jewel, I’m here!” Delroy called when he got to the front door. Moments later Jewel opened the door and stood in front of Delroy, licking on the remnants of an orange push-up.

  “You took too long. I’m on my third push-up already.” She smiled at Delroy. The two went inside, then to Jewel’s chair on the back porch. With a plop, Jewel sat down and turned toward the little television she kept within arm’s reach. She was watching Matlock, her second episode of the day. She’d already seen the present episode three or four times, but that didn’t matter. It had to be watched.

  “Jewel, can you tell me what happened?”

  “You saw him, Mr. D. A devil-man came to my front door, knocking. I saw him through the window and called you. Then I got the push-ups and turned on Mr. Matlock and waited.”

  “Did you talk to him, or did he say anything?”

  The tense spasms in his neck, prodding him on the drive over, were easing. Jewel could be a very sweet woman, but that sweetness was fragile. Racey Bridges was in one piece, however, and Jewel was watching a story about her favorite lawyer, present company included.

  “Don’t have no need to talk to the devil. None at all. This is the only thing I have for the devil.”

  She lifted a butt cheek, slightly, and retrieved a butcher knife from between the seat and arm of the recliner. It had to be eight inches long.

  “I ain’t got nothing to say to no devil-man, no sir, Mr. D. I’ll cut his tongue out if he tries to talk to me and take his eyes if he looks at me. You can’t let the devil in, Mr. D, and he’s always tryin’ to get in.” Jewel held the knife closer to Delroy, as if he needed to get a better look to understand what she meant.

  “Okay, Jewel. I’m here, so you can put your knife away.”

  She slid it back into its resting place. Some folks used the Bible to scare away the devil. Jewel took a more direct approach.

  “Look, that man is just another person who wants to talk about buying your house. He’s not the devil, and I’ll make sure he leaves. I want you to finish your shows, and don’t worry about this man.” Delroy moved away from his client, just a little, in case she doubted his sincerity or intentions. Jewel nodded, her gaze fixed on the evidence Matlock had just discovered that would break open his case. Delroy went back through the house and out the front door.

  Racey was still there, by now leaning against the Audi’s grille. He stood as Delroy approached.

  “Like I said, I’m here to speak with one of the sisters about selling their land. I didn’t get your name.”

  Delroy considered Racey for a moment, then spoke.

  “I’m the sisters’ attorney. I’m curious—can you read?”

  Racey cracked a slight smile, not sure why Delroy would ask the question. “Of course I can,” he said, a nervous giggle escaping as he spoke.

  “Well then, can you see? Or did you squint your way the two or three hours it took you to drive from Atlanta?”

  Racey stopped smiling. He answered with a question of his own. “Look, what have I done to you? What’s the problem here?”

  “The problem? The problem is that you drove past no fewer than ten No Trespassing signs posted on the fence. The problem is that you opened the closed gate at the end of the drive to let yourself in, and came up to speak with a woman who was here all alone.”

  Delroy didn’t explain what Racey’s problem would’ve been if Jewel had answered the door. The less Mr. Bridges knew, the better.

  “Well, I missed those signs. I guess I just really—”

  Delroy cut him off.

  “Just stop it, Mr. Bridges. You’re embarrassing yourself. Here’s what you’re gonna do next. You leave right now, and I mean right now, or I’ll call the sheriff and make sure you stay at the Gratis County Hilton for the next few nights.”

  Racey wasn’t from Gratis, but he knew there wasn’t a Hilton within a hundred miles of where he’d parked the Audi. There was sure to be a jailhouse, though.

  “I’m leaving, but can I at least get a card from you? I really want to speak with someone about buying this property for a client. Could you do that for me?”

  As much as he didn’t like Racey or his disregard for signage, Delroy was the sisters’ lawyer. If someone wanted to make an offer on their land, all 350 acres of it, he had a duty to let them know.

  He dug a business card from under the old Suburban’s passenger seat and handed it to Racey. It was creased and dirty, but you could still make out his name and number.

  “Well, Mr. Jones, it’s nice to at last get your name. I’ll be calling you.” With that, Racey got into the Audi and started down the drive, crunching gravel as he went.

  Delroy watched until he was gone, noticing that he failed to close the gate at the road. He knew there would be a message waiting for him when he got back to the office. Racey seemed intent to speak with someone about the property—so intent he came all the way from Atlanta on a Saturday morning. Those Audi payments weren’t cheap.

  This was the third person in a month inquiring about the sisters’ home and land. The two others had come from Macon and Savannah. Claudia gave Delroy the cards they left in the mailbox and told him flatly that she did not wish to sell. That was the end of it for Delroy—he never called them. He knew he should have. The last month, with Amy gone, had not been his best as an attorney. It was far from it.

  Well, at least Jewel is fine
for right now.

  He drove the Suburban out of the sisters’ driveway and onto Cap Jackson Road. The land along Cap Jackson was still in big parcels, none of it yet divided into new subdivisions. He was glad of it, wondering how many more tacked-up ranch houses Gratis could handle.

  He turned the Suburban toward Gratis. It was a bit early to have a drink, not yet two in the afternoon. Delroy convinced himself that he needed to speak with Kero.

  He is their cousin, after all, and he takes care of them. He needs to be aware of all this interest in their land.

  Delroy couldn’t help it that Kero would be at Daddy Jack’s.

  A lawyer has to go where he’s needed, even if it’s a juke joint with a good bar. That’s where you’re gonna find the real troubled souls anyway, the ones who need help from people like me.

  5.

  Newt MacElroy was tending bar at Daddy Jack’s when Delroy walked in. He grinned as Delroy took a seat in front of him.

  “Well dang, Delroy, glad to see you back already. I was just starting to miss you.”

  Newt chuckled at his smart-ass greeting. He wasn’t good for much, but he could smart-ass with the best of them.

  Delroy and Newt had a history. When Newt had been suspected of murdering those women only the summer before, Delroy put his own neck on the line for him. He even represented him for free. More than that, he caught the killer—or at least was there when his young nephew, Peck, did so.

  Delroy’s shoulder also caught a shotgun blast in the process. Newt would never forget it. He might give Delroy a hard time, but that’s what friends do. If anyone else gave Delroy a hard time, Newt made it his business to know about it.

  “Well, I missed you too, jackleg.” Delroy could give as good as he got. “Is Kero around? I need to talk at him.”

  “Hell, I thought you would know where he was. Last I saw, Kero was helping you back up the stairs from the Rendezvous.”

  The Rendezvous was the downstairs bar at Daddy Jack’s, accessible by a steep flight of stairs from the main bar. The previous night, those steps had proved too much for Delroy to climb solo. He’d needed a homegrown Sherpa.

  Flashes of the night before hit Delroy. He hoped that the place had been nearly empty, that not many people had seen him practically getting carried up the stairs. Delroy knew better than to get that drunk—in public anyway—and especially in Gratis.

  It’s like I’m a walking billboard saying “Don’t hire me, I’m an idiot.”

  “Well, I hope it didn’t cause too much of a show. Y’all don’t pay me to be the entertainment.”

  Newt took pity on his friend. “Don’t worry, it was after closing hours. Everybody else was gone. Well, except for that new girl in town, the blondie from Perry. The two of us had a date after closing time.”

  “Well of course y’all did.” It was a good bet that Newt would have a date with someone at the end of most nights. Besides being a smart-ass, serial fornication was one of his few real talents. “So, is Kero around? Seriously, I need to talk to him.”

  “Kero, you here? Delroy needs you!” Newt yelled through the bar, tapping at the remnants of Delroy’s hangover.

  Moments later Kero appeared from the back office, a notepad in his hand. He sat down beside Delroy. Newt handed them a couple of Cokes. Delroy sipped his, wishing it had something more in it. Given the previous night’s performance, however, he was too ashamed to ask for anything.

  “I’m glad you woke up this morning, Delroy. I was a little worried.” Kero glanced at his friend.

  “I’m sorry, buddy. Yesterday was a tough day, but I’m getting better. Thanks for giving me a lift home.”

  “And up the stairs—don’t forget the stairs,” Newt chimed in.

  “You’re always a great help, Newt. Anyway, I wanted to speak to you about Claudia and Jewel. There’s something a little unusual going on with them.”

  Kero looked up when he heard that. The sisters were the children of his late father’s brother. His father had asked him to look after them shortly before he died. Kero promised he would.

  “Newt, how about telling Garo to set us up with something at the back booth? Let’s go, Delroy. You look like you need something to eat.”

  The two settled in at the booth and soon were eating chopped pork barbeque, coleslaw, and splitting a bucket of beer. Delroy didn’t know which he needed more, the food or the beer. He attacked them both. They ate for a good ten minutes before Delroy told him about the sudden interests in the sisters’ land.

  Their 350 acres was situated on the north bank of the Bird, bounded by Cap Jackson Road on the north side. It was cotton land forty years before, and still had the old home-place. The cotton fields used to creep to within ten feet of it. When it was a farm, the only trees were kept as a winding buffer between the land and the river. The more land in cotton, the better the family ate.

  The farm was planted in pines after the soil got too used up to grow anything else. They grew untended—along with the hardwoods that elbowed their way in—for the last few decades. Some areas were so thick with trees as to be almost impassable.

  Kero’s grandfather gave the land to the sisters’ father in his will. His own father got a house in town and several other properties. Still, he had walked the fence of the old farm—his childhood home—at least once a month until he passed. His father never said it, but he wished the old farm was his. It was home.

  His uncle set up a trust for Claudia and Jewel, which included living at the farm. Fearing they would be hard-pressed to take care of themselves, he made sure there was enough money to pay the taxes and take care of his children. They were free to sell the land or free to stay as long as they wanted.

  Kero listened as Delroy recounted the recent interest shown in the land, grimacing when told about the devil-man and Jewel’s knife. He grew up with Jewel and knew the damage she could do—whether she meant to or not.

  “Well, that’s a little odd. The land is worth a good bit, no doubt, but my cousins don’t want to sell—although we both know they should. They need to be somewhere a little less remote, and that old house is just rotting around them. Hell, we’ll need to bulldoze it if they decide they do want to sell. Not that we’re getting Jewel off that back porch, not that I can see.”

  “You might be right,” Delroy replied. “I’ll call this Racey Bridges and these others. Let’s see what kind of price they’re thinking. Who knows? Maybe Bridges wants to buy Gratis land at Atlanta prices. Your cousins might be swayed if the number is right.”

  Delroy had seen this type of deal before. Some rich city person, with way more money than sense, dreams of a columned mansion with a front porch facing the river. Of course when the river floods or the realization hits them that it takes twenty minutes to get anywhere from that front porch, they tire of it and sell. Delroy always marveled at that—someone chasing a dream and recoiling once they caught it.

  “All right, make sure Claudia is in the loop. My cousin has the say in this thing more than I do. You know Claudia never listens to me, not about a damn thing. Ain’t nothing happening, though, without Claudia.”

  Delroy looked at his friend, seeing the hurt glint in his eyes when he mentioned his cousin.

  “Kero, I’ll take care of them. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch Claudia when she comes to town Monday and let her know what’s going on. I’m sure she’s going to get Jewel’s side of events when she gets in this evening. I imagine she’ll find me after that.”

  “Yep. Well, just help my cousins. God knows they need it.” With that, Kero got up and went to check on Newt at the bar. Business was starting to walk in the door, and Kero made sure to stay on top of business.

  This is business and that’s family. Whole lot of bother for one man to handle, Kero thought, grateful that he had a good friend to help him with all of it. Even if he is a fairly sorry-ass drunk, sometimes.

  Looking back at that same friend finishing his third beer, he hoped the sometimes didn’t get any mor
e frequent. He had enough folks to worry about as it was.

  6.

  Racey Bridges was not a man to be easily chased off a dollar. He had loved money ever since he was a child and opened his first lemonade stand. Racey also had no compunction about the method by which that dollar was obtained. The lemonade at his stand was always watered-down, the cups never filled more than halfway.

  He grew up in Sandy Springs and then went to the University of Georgia for undergrad and law school. The first few years as a lawyer were exciting. With the law, he found one could water down everything. The only ones getting full cups were the lawyers themselves.

  Unfortunately for Racey, the Georgia Bar didn’t agree with the way he did business. After enough complaints and investigations, he lost his law license. It was for only two years the first time. The second time was, to put it delicately, for the foreseeable future.

  Not one to be deterred, Racey became what he termed a “handler.” He represented those who wished to get certain projects done quietly—and were willing to pay a hefty fee for the service. Racey learned from his problems with the State Bar and only dealt in cash. Paper trails were for suckers.

  If a person wanted to get a liquor license, Racey looked into it. If someone needed some investigation done, Racey could handle it. He also had the benefit of numerous “allies,” paid of course, that he cultivated while practicing law. If a project dealt with something affected by a government agency, Racey had people who could fix whatever problem he was working on. He knew the machine ran on money—and how to keep the money flying. The trick was to make sure any money spent was to make even more. At that, he was a master.

  He kept an office in an old house on Virginia Avenue, near the corner of North Highland Avenue. Weather permitting, he could walk to work from his small condo, only three blocks away on Barnett Street. More important, he could walk up the street to grab a drink whenever the need arose. This was most days of the week. Racey loved money more than anything else, but his adoration of debauchery, whether booze, drugs, or women—in that order—was a close second.