by Jackson, Jay
Garo came to the booth and dropped off the barbecue sandwiches, potato salad, and tea. Kero picked up a sandwich and took a bite, his gaze intent on Racey. Newt also eyed Racey from behind the bar. He wanted to finish where he left off.
Swallowing his bite, Kero spoke. “All right, maybe we can get things worked out. Maybe. First, why don’t you give me the name of that person who’s so intent on buying my family’s land? I need to have a conversation with him, too.”
Racey sipped his tea and ate a forkful of potato salad. Smiling, he replied, “You’ll get that name, but not just yet. I’m starving, and first I’m going to eat this fine sandwich right here in front of me. I might even get another.”
50.
When Claudia awoke, everything around her was a cloudy gray. She shook her head, weakly, and voices drifted from beneath her. They sounded far away, as if she was listening through a heavy door.
“Well, look at what you did. Idiot. You got some man-woman in here, all messed up and bleeding. Good job, dork.”
“Sister, calm down. Your brother did the only thing he could do, given the circumstances. But really, son, you helped create these same circumstances. You brought Baby Brother into our home without thinking it through. What’s going to happen to us now?”
“Look, I’m trying to figure everything out. I don’t really have an answer for you right now, but I will. I just need some room to think and make a plan.”
“A plan? You should have already had a plan before this happened. Now there’s a person laid out in our home who was snooping around. Snooping! You’ve been sloppy, very sloppy, and you still haven’t changed Baby Brother, not like I asked. You change him, stop all your playing with him outside, away from us, and things will be okay. As for that person, the person you spent all day working on, we all know what you have to do. Just be the man we expect you to be, and do it.”
“Leave me alone! I am trying!”
With that, a door somewhere beneath Claudia slammed. The voices stopped.
The cloudy gray sharpening into focus, Claudia looked around. She was in an attic room, the ceiling sloping down to the floor on either side. On both ends of the room were large windows. The light coming into those windows indicated it was either dawn or dusk. She had no idea as to which one, or how long she had been unconscious. She did know that the clues had been correct. She’d watched this house for weeks. First the fence went up, then the air-conditioning units were installed. The trash yielded receipts for children’s clothing, toys, and diapers. None of it came together, though, not until she saw Ted in that horrible room. He wasn’t supposed to be there. No child was supposed to be in this house.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Claudia tried to move, but her head felt heavy. She could barely lift it. Then the pain hit her, pulsing from her right leg. She looked down and saw that her leg was heavily bandaged from the knee down. Blood spotted the back of the bandage, still seeping from the wound that Mister Brother had hastily sewn up. She didn’t know it yet, but her right Achilles tendon was now neatly severed, courtesy of Mister Brother.
Claudia remained completely still, making sure not to move her leg. Lying there, trying to shake off the fog and assess the situation, she noticed how cold she was. The temperature in the house was no more than fifty degrees. She could hear the four air conditioners whirring outside.
Okay, girl, you need to figure this out. At least you’re not tied up.
She wasn’t, but the gruesome surgery performed on her hours before made ropes and handcuffs unnecessary. Her pain confined her, the slightest movement a masochistic exercise. The sedative Mister Brother used to accomplish his butchery, midazolam, was wearing off. The more her fog lifted, the more focused her pain.
Claudia heard something downstairs. This sound was harsher than the voices she previously heard. This sound cut her as deeply as Mister Brother did, even deeper.
Downstairs, somewhere, Ted was crying. She imagined him surrounded by the sickness she saw through the curtains, afraid and alone.
I will get you. I will get you home, I promise.
She wanted to believe her own mind, but wasn’t sure how she could help the child. There was no contingency for being unable to walk. Walking was how she made things better.
Lying there, the cold air turning her cheeks red, she started to cry. The tears trickled down her face, warming her skin as they did so. She came to an awful realization.
I have no plan. There’s nothing I can do.
Downstairs, Ted cried, his unmoving caretakers staring through him with empty eyes. They had nothing to give this child, shivering in his playpen, all alone.
51.
After eating his second sandwich, Racey gave his dining companions the name they wanted. He had teased them long enough. His luck was pushed as far as it could go.
“Well, the person who wanted me down here is a Franky Francis. You know the guy?”
They did know him—and well. He owned Le Café Restaurant in downtown Gratis. Along with a really good chicken-salad croissant, one could find the best gossip in town there. The lunch crowd was merciless, cutting down reputations as they ate their club salads.
“Well, we know where he is right now, so let’s go. Let’s find out what Fat Franky wants with my family’s land.” Kero glowered as he spoke.
Who the hell is Fat Franky Francis to do anything to my family?
The three men walked across the square to Le Café, Racey trailing behind the other two. Soon they were walking through the front door of the restaurant.
A group of middle-aged women, eating a late lunch while wearing blue hats and sipping mimosas, crackled with laughter as they walked in. Johnnie Lee was regaling them with the latest gossip on two newly hired elementary-school teachers. They were caught the day before, fumbling with each other’s unmentionables in the janitor’s closet. The janitor came in unexpectedly, wanting to finish early so he could make the dirt track races. The amorous pair didn’t get fired as teachers were in short supply in Gratis. Their dalliance, however, quickly became very public. Johnnie had connections everywhere.
She looked up at the three men and her laughing smile disappeared.
These three coming into Le Café? This might be good.
Seeing Johnnie, Delroy shooed the others to a table on the other side.
“What are we doing sitting down?” Racey was confused. These country boys were always stopping for something, like the trip was more important than the purpose.
Slower than Atlanta traffic at rush hour. Might as well be stuck on the Grady curve on a Friday afternoon.
“Look, Racey, you want to keep a low profile, or at least as low as possible, right? That woman over there doesn’t believe in the concept of a low profile. She’s a shark, always looking for the next piece of news. If she comes over here, let me do the talking.”
“Delroy’s right about that, so just don’t say a word. I’ll go to the back, like I’m going to the restroom, and then go find Franky. Just order a couple of chicken-salad sandwiches, something quick to go, and when they bring them we’ll leave.”
Kero stood up and headed toward the restrooms.
The other two ordered and sat there trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Delroy hoped that Johnnie was busy with her lunch ladies, spewing her rumors. Racey sat there with a wry grin breaking across his face.
Running scared from a little, old, gossipy lady?
Delroy drank the water in front of him, hoping that Kero would hurry back. Putting the glass down, a voice chirped behind him.
“Well good afternoon, Delroy. It’s so nice to see you today. Who’s your friend? I haven’t had the chance to make his acquaintance.”
Delroy turned around. There was Johnnie, standing behind him. Her smile revealed barracuda teeth smudged with bright red lipstick. A blue hat was perched atop her head, tilted sideways at a jaunty angle.
“My name is Richard Delicieux. It’s an old French name. It’s good to m
eet you,” Racey answered before Delroy could stop him.
“Well, Mr. Delicieux, what brings you our way?”
“Nothing much, really. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name, ma’am.”
“I’m Johnnie Lee.”
“Well, Ms. Lee, I used to work with Delroy in Atlanta. I was coming down to Savannah and thought I’d stop by and surprise him. We go back a little ways.”
Johnnie’s hat trembled on top of her head. “Well, just how far back do you go with one of our finest lawyers?” Johnnie was already sure that whatever came out of this man’s mouth would be a lie. His face didn’t betray him, but that only meant he was a professional con artist. This was something Johnnie could work with.
“I was a runner for law firms in Atlanta, and Delroy here threw a lot of work my way. So much that I was able to hire some help and make a living in litigation support. This guy was, and is, a real prince.”
Johnnie smiled, trying to look like she was eating the dish this “Richard” person was serving up. Of course she wasn’t, and so cut the conversation short. She had other ways of finding out who people were and what they were doing.
“Well, it’s so nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy catching up with your prince.” With that she walked back to her lunch ladies, still cawing at their table like a murder of blue-headed crows.
“Nice story, Racey. I imagine you’ve had practice at lying at the drop of a hat . . . even a blue one.”
“You could say that, Delroy.”
“Where’d you get the name Delicieux? Never heard it before.”
Racey grinned. “Like I said, it’s French. Look it up.”
The waiter came by with their sandwiches, and seconds later Kero came back from his faux men’s room visit. The door to Franky’s office was down the hall from the restroom. Kero had detoured through that door. In less than ten minutes, Franky told him everything he knew.
Kero threw a twenty on the table, and the men left the restaurant.
Johnnie eyed them as they left. As soon as the ladies finished their lunch and left, with loud caws of “good-bye,” she visited Franky’s office as well. She was nobody’s dummy. It was no coincidence that the men had left as soon as Kero returned to the table. She knew where Franky’s office was located, too, and that Kero probably didn’t need a restroom break. Johnnie would get her answers, regardless of any lie a slick-looking man threw her way.
Some people are too cute, by far, for their own good, she thought.
This particular liar didn’t know she took four years of French in high school, and visited Paris with her good friend, Millie Knox, before her untimely death. She knew what “delicious” was in French, and how immature some men could be.
I guess you thought calling yourself Richard Delicieux was really funny, and you’d get one over on a little old lady. Well, Mr. Dick Delicious, we’ll see what’s funny and what’s not. Maybe you should look up the French word for “tiny.”
With that thought, she knocked on Franky’s door. She had a column to write and needed something to write about. If she was lucky it would be “delicieux” and a smartass would choke on it—tiny or not.
52.
“Seems that Fat Franky was just doing Betty Greer a favor. Miss Betty wanted to know who to go to when you needed something delicately handled, and she asked Fat Franky. Franky has a cousin in Dublin, and somehow he got the information on our Mr. Racey Bridges. Of course all she had was a number, because our friend here doesn’t advertise, and here we are.”
Kero recounted the details of his conversation with the other two as they walked back toward Daddy Jack’s. He stopped and turned to Racey.
“I don’t guess you’d tell us who he knew in Dublin, would you?”
“No clue at all, not a wit,” Racey lied.
“All right. So, for some reason, Miss Betty wanted a fixer. That doesn’t really make much sense. I mean, it’s Miss Betty.”
Miss Betty had taught both Kero and Delroy in Sunday school. Her husband was the shop teacher at Gratis High School. After everyone else had failed, he got Kero’s first car, a ’68 Malibu, to sputter to life. Kero drove that car for years. Mr. Greer was the only one he allowed to work on it.
“Well, Delroy, let’s go ask her what she needed. I wouldn’t mind seeing Miss Betty—not at all.” The group was soon in the old Suburban and rumbling over to the Pine Hills neighborhood. This was one of the town’s oldest, its 1960s ranch houses, odes to red and yellow brick, lining the streets. Miss Betty and her husband bought one of the first built and kept it in pristine condition. Even the appliances were original to the home. The kitchen looked like a time capsule from an old Life magazine spread.
Delroy went up to the door and knocked. Kero and Racey stayed on the walk, not wanting to seem pushy by crowding the doorway. Miss Betty always insisted on manners.
Janie Thomas, the twice-a-week cleaning lady, opened the door and smiled when she saw Delroy. They had dated, for two weeks, in fourth grade. Besides his mother and aunts, hers was the first female hand he ever held. “Well hello, Delroy. How are you doing today? If you’re here to see Miss Betty, I’m afraid you came over a bit early. She’s out of town.”
“Where’d she go, Janie?”
“She and some of the other widows from the First Baptist went on a retreat up in the mountains, somewhere in Rabun County, I think. They won’t be back until tomorrow morning. She said she’s got a service tomorrow, so she’s planning to get in around nine.”
“Okay, well, you wouldn’t have her number, would you?”
“Delroy, she doesn’t pay me to give out her number, even to folks I know. Even to you, boyfriend.”
Despite himself, Delroy blushed. He remembered once trying to kiss her during recess. She had run away, laughing.
“It wouldn’t matter anyway. No service up there, and she left her phone inside, on her bed. I think the whole point of the retreat is, you know, to retreat. Sorry about that.”
“That’s fine, Janie. If you do hear from her, please let me know. I’ll owe you one.”
“I’ll let you know, Delroy. And yes, you will owe me one.”
Delroy went back to the Suburban. Kero followed, nodding to Janie as he left.
Racey stood there a few more seconds, admiring the state of Gratis’s cleaning services.
Hell, if all the cleaning ladies in Gratis look like that, I might need to make a big old mess.
Moments later, the three were going down the road. They were quiet, and the worn-out shocks bounced them over every cracked chunk of pavement. Racey finally broke the silence.
“Two questions. First, can you get me the maid’s number? I’d like to say hello to her. Second, any way, at all, we can figure out what your Miss Betty knows before tomorrow morning?”
While standing on the Sunday school teacher’s walkway, Racey reconstructed, several times, the Highland Tap martini in his mind. Each time, it came out perfect. He convinced himself he might even be able to have a few of the cold libations that same night. At least he hoped to—until he heard about the church retreat.
Delroy replied, “First, you can’t get her number. You’re still an asshole.”
“That’s right,” Kero chimed in, “You’re a real asshole, no doubt.”
“Anyway, she’s our friend, and her husband and two children probably wouldn’t appreciate your interest. Second, we have to wait for Miss Betty to get back. I don’t have a clue how to talk to her before then. She didn’t take her phone. Come on, Mr. Bridges, you’re staying at the Blue Boy, right? You oughta be glad we have to wait for morning. I hear they wash the sheets there every month, at least, and that sometimes the ice machine on the second floor works.”
He laughed, Kero joining in.
Racey just looked out the window, clenching his teeth and thinking.
All right, first you start with gin, Bombay Sapphire, a couple of lemon twists, or maybe olives if you want it dirty, then . . .
53.
&n
bsp; The shadows in the room overlapped each other as nightfall approached. Claudia caught a purple streak of sunset through the side window. Even with the small lamp on the table near one of the windows, the room was a darkening haze of smoky gray. Her right foot was completely useless now, the muscle and tendon bunched up under her knee. The wound had stopped bleeding hours ago but, as the numbing agent dissipated in her bloodstream, the pain intensified. She was exhausted and wanted to sleep. The sharp pangs wouldn’t allow it.
Against the wall behind the lamp, Claudia noticed a small wooden table with several pictures affixed behind it. It was too far away to make out, but there had to be at least fifty. Beside the table was a small dresser, three drawers high, and even more pictures on top. They were also too far away to make out in the gloom. On the other side of the table was a large object covered by a sheet drooping to the floor. Perspiration bathed her pillow. She didn’t know it yet, but her wound was starting to get infected. Mister Brother had used too little disinfectant when he sliced her open. He was a neophyte to cutting on live people. The surgery could only be termed “successful” in that he was able to sever the tendon. Claudia’s temperature was starting to climb, already well over one hundred degrees. While the rest of her shivered, her forehead was burning up.
Downstairs was quiet. She did hear the occasional gurgle from the child and an adult male voice softly replying. This went on for hours, and soon she was in a feverish netherworld between being awake and asleep. Her senses were a thick stew of consciousness, spiced by the occasional sharp stab of pain. Lost in this fevered state, suspended in time, she only moved when she heard the stairs creak.
Someone was coming up to the room.
The door at the top swung open, and soon her captor was standing over her. She started to speak. He stopped her.
“Don’t try to talk. I hope you’re feeling okay, and I am so sorry that your leg is hurt. That is truly terrible, and I am very sorry it had to be done. Let’s face it, though, you were trespassing and peeping into the windows of my home. What’s a man supposed to do? He has to protect his family.”
