Ron Base - Tree Callister 02 - The Sanibel Sunset Detective Returns

by Ron Base

Tree followed the limping, stumbling Dodge into the house. Indirect lighting cast the kitchen in amber light. Tree thought about how Freddie would kill for this kitchen.

  Tree prodded Dodge through a series of corridors into a darkened sitting room the size of a hotel lobby. Dodge staggered against a suede sofa, dripping blood.

  “You got to listen to me, man. I need a doctor bad. Okay? This is no fooling around. I’m bleeding all over the place.”

  “Tell me Tony, did Ferne and Slippery beg you to take them to a hospital?”

  “I didn’t have nothing to do with that.”

  “You didn’t kill Brand Traven. You didn’t kill Kendra. Now you had nothing to do with murdering Ferne and Slippery. But you know, Tony, since you got out of prison a lot of people have died.”

  “Those two clowns Baldur hired, that’s their specialty. It ain’t mine. Your lady friend should never have taken a baseball bat to them. They’ve been waiting to get her.”

  “If you didn’t kill Brand Traven and Kendra, did those two?”

  That got a wry smile out of Dodge. “Man, every time I start to think you might actually have a brain in your head, you remind me how stupid you are. If I was gonna kill someone, I sure as hell wouldn’t use scissors to do it. Traven’s old lady killed him, not because he wanted her out of the business, but because he wanted in. That’s why he got me out of Coleman. He and Baldur wanted to take over the whole business; they didn’t like the way it was being run. They needed someone familiar with this kind of operation. Traven knew I’d been involved in high-end situations in Detroit and New York and could give them the results they were looking for.”

  “What about Kendra?”

  “I don’t know,” Dodge said. “The way I hear it, she was playing a lot of ends against the middle. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “What about Baldur?”

  “What about him?”

  “Could he have done it?”

  “I thought he was crazy about her, wanted her back after she ran out on him. Trouble with that dude, he’s a whack job. Sometimes, he kills the things he loves. So who knows.”

  Dodge’s Blackberry sounded in Tree’s pocket. He pulled the device out and looked at the digital readout. It was Baldur. “Speak of the devil.”

  Tree handed Dodge the phone. He held it to his ear. “Yes?” He listened for a moment. “Okay.”

  Tree plucked the phone from Dodge’s fingers. “What did he want?”

  “He needs to be picked up.”

  Outside, Tree heard the sound of a car. Dodge made another pained face and said, “Now we’re in for it. Those two morons are going to come in here, guns blazing.”

  “Take your jacket and tie off, Tony.”

  “What is this?”

  “Take them off.”

  Dodge groaned and struggled out of his jacket and then undid his tie. Tree took them from him.

  Tree heard a door opening. He pulled the jacket on. Not a great fit, but it would do. That’s when Dodge all of a sudden found a strength Tree would not have thought he had left and charged him for a second time.

  Tree fired wildly, missing Dodge who lost his balance and fell across a coffee table. Fudd appeared in the room and, thinking someone was shooting at him in the darkness, returned fire. Dodge, trying to get to his feet, screamed in pain as one of Fudd’s bullets hit him and he pitched forward.

  Tree dropped the Walther then turned and groped his way out of the living room into the twisting corridors leading to the front entrance.

  Outside, the warm night was a pleasant contrast to the artificially arctic temperature inside the Baldur house.

  Tree stumbled down the front steps expecting Fudd and Elmer to come crashing out of the house after him. He reached the car and opened the driver’s door and found the chauffeur’s cap, crown down on the passenger seat. He laid his Glock beside the cap and started the car.

  He heard more gunshots inside the house.

  44

  Tree felt suddenly woozy as he drove the Lincoln away from Baldur’s house. The adrenalin rush that accompanied kidnapping Tony Dodge and getting involved in a shootout had worn off. Everything began hurting again.

  He glanced at himself in the rear view mirror. He looked terrible. His mouth was a bloody mess, not helped by the fact that two of his front teeth were missing. The side of his face throbbed and had begun to swell and turn purple. He adjusted the chauffeur’s cap so that the peak was lower on his forehead, and he kept driving.

  The return to the Ringling Museum grounds took only minutes. Security guards waved him through the main gate. The Lincoln’s headlights captured departing guests flooding either side of the drive leading to the mansion. Were they leaving or escaping Jay and the Americans?

  He pulled up to the side entrance. A beefy security guard rapped on the window and Tree rolled it down.

  “Mr. Baldur’s been waiting for you,” the guard said.

  “I’m here,” Tree said.

  “He ain’t a happy man.” The guard shook his head sympathetically. His face disappeared. A moment later, Baldur wheeled out the door, a stunning young woman hanging off either arm. The guard yanked open the rear passenger door so Baldur could guide his ladies inside. They giggled delightedly.

  One of the women was blond with short hair. The other had long black hair, like a ribbon of silk in the shadowy interior. Both were very young. Too young, perhaps.

  Baldur said, “Where have you been? Let’s get out of here.”

  Tree started the car forward. The women giggled some more. Baldur exhaled loudly and said, “Was that a night? What did you think of Jay and the Americans? Weren’t they great?”

  “Who are they?” said a female voice. “I never heard them before.”

  “You never heard of Jay and the Americans?” Baldur sounded taken aback. “They are world famous. We were very lucky to get them.”

  Silence from the rear. Baldur said, “It was a great night.” As if trying to convince himself.

  “Awesome,” one of the women said.

  “There should have been more press,” Baldur said. “Where was the New York Times? I didn’t see anyone from The Times.”

  More silence. Tree chanced a quick glance at the rear view mirror. Baldur was on his iPhone. “Hey, Sophie,” he said. “Yeah, great. But what about The Times? The New York Times. Did their reporter attend? No? What about U.S.A. Today? I thought they were going to have someone.”

  He grew sullen. “Sophie, don’t tell me what you can’t do, okay? I don’t want to hear that. I only want to hear what you can do. What I’m hearing is that no reporters from the national press were there. Well, that’s what I’m hearing, so no, I’m not happy.”

  He must have turned off the phone. Tree heard him mutter, “I don’t like this.”

  “Come on Aksel,” one of the young women said. “You said you had stuff.”

  “Shut up,” Baldur snapped. Then, his voice rose, “Hey, why so slow, driver? Come on. Speed it up.”

  Tree pressed his foot against the accelerator, and the Lincoln leapt smartly forward. In the back it grew quiet. Tree hazarded another peek at the rear view mirror. Baldur was wrapped around the blonde, her reward for not complaining about Jay and the Americans.

  He sped along the road, approaching a marina on the right. He slowed and turned into the parking lot. He leapt out, pulling the Glock at the same time as he opened the passenger door.

  “Get out,” he ordered the startled occupants.

  Baldur and his friends looked at Tree like he had landed from another planet. Baldur’s face suddenly lit with recognition. “Callister? Are you out of your mind?”

  Tree pointed the Glock into the car and repeated, “Get out.”

  The blonde with short hair squealed. Baldur looked irritated. “Quiet down,” he told her. “Do as he says. Get out of the car.”

  The beauty with silky hair showed lots of leg as she slid from the vehicle. Baldur followed and then the blonde, reduced to sniff
les. Tree kept the gun trained on Baldur.

  “I want you to drive,” Tree said.

  Baldur smiled and said, “Get out of the car. Drive. Do this. Do that. All these orders, Callister. What? Just because you have a gun?”

  “No,” Tree said, “because tonight I’ve been handcuffed to two corpses, attacked by alligators, and I’ve already shot one guy. I don’t see any reason in the world why I shouldn’t shoot you.”

  That wiped the smile off Baldur’s face. “I told them not to hurt you.”

  “Well, they weren’t listening.”

  “What do you want, Callister?”

  “Give your friends some money. I’m sure they’ve got cell phones. As soon as we’re gone, they can call a cab. If I were you, I’d advise them not to call the police. This is going to be messy enough. I don’t think you want the police involved, not yet, anyway.”

  “I don’t have any money,” Baldur said.

  “You’re rich,” Tree said.

  “I never carry cash.” He looked at the women. “You have any money?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “This is unbelievable,” Tree said.

  “Why don’t you let me drive them home, and you save your money?” Baldur said.

  Tree fished into his pocket and came out with a couple of twenty dollar bills. He handed the cash to the silky beauty.

  Baldur turned and spoke quietly to her. “Do as he says, okay? Don’t call the police. Let me handle this.”

  “Aksel, for God’s sake,” the blonde said, “he’s got a gun.”

  “It’s America,” Baldur said calmly. “Everyone’s got a gun. Get a cab. Go home. I’ll call you later.”

  He kissed the blonde’s forehead. That started her crying again. He bussed the silky beauty’s cheek—the Finnish Sidney Carton, sacrificing himself for the far, far better thing. Baldur pushed his heavy bulk behind the wheel of the Lincoln. Tree got in beside him.

  “What do you want me to do?” Baldur said.

  Tree suddenly realized he had no idea. “Just drive,” he said.

  45

  You look awful,” Baldur said, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “People have been trying to kill me,” Tree said. “It makes for a lot of wear and tear.”

  “For what it’s worth, you surprised me back there,” Baldur said.

  “Is that so?”

  “The last thing I expected you to do.”

  “Yes, well I have this knack for doing the unexpected.”

  “So here we are, messy, as you say. How do we get out of it? You are angry, I can see that, and maybe I don’t blame you. But anger isn’t going to solve either of our problems. What will help, I suppose, is for you to achieve whatever it is you are seeking. So tell me, Tree Callister, what are you after?”

  “A confession.”

  “I am not good at confessions. Ask the old priest where I grew up. Confession is a nice way of admitting guilt, and I dislike guilt. It gets in the way of what you have to do.”

  “Then just tell me why you killed Kendra.”

  Baldur kept his eyes fixed ahead while he sadly shook his head. “You are mistaken if you think I had anything to do with Kendra’s death.”

  “You and Kendra and a belt. The two of you have done it before. I have the photos to prove it.”

  Baldur shot him a glance. “I loved Kendra,” he said quietly. “I should not have been so stupid, but then love makes you stupid, doesn’t it? That is my failing: falling in love with a loveless woman, not killing her.”

  “That’s not what Kendra thought. You scared her and her husband badly enough that they ran away.”

  “Listen to me. I did not want to hurt her, no matter what she and her husband told you. I was the one protecting Kendra, trying to save her ass, save us all when it came down to it.”

  “From what?”

  “Brand Traven’s murder. I no sooner hear of it than Kendra comes crying into my arms saying she didn’t know what happened, and what was she going to do now?”

  “What are you saying? Kendra murdered Brand Traven?”

  “She went to him about business, furious at the way he was attempting to interfere. There was some sort of confrontation, a pair of scissors …”

  “I don’t believe it,” was all Tree could think of to say.

  “What? You don’t think Kendra was capable of murder? If that’s the case my friend, you didn’t know her very well.”

  “But why didn’t Elizabeth tell this to the police?”

  “Elizabeth did not know Kendra went to see her husband. Kendra waited until she was out of town, arranging some business things.”

  “You mean procuring women for you.”

  “Not just for me. Many clients were interested in what Red Rose was offering. It’s a very lucrative business that has saved not only Elizabeth’s fortunes but mine as well. The shame is that Kendra’s jealousy and greed destroyed it for all of us.”

  “Which brings me back to you killing her to get her out of the way.”

  “Such action, had I taken it, would have been carefully planned and meticulously executed by someone like Mr. Dodge. No, Kendra died as the result of a crime of passion.”

  “You’re certainly capable of that.”

  “Perhaps,” Baldur said. “But it was not me.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “I think you know, Mr. Callister. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  “Why don’t you tell me.”

  “Your son, of course. Who had a better reason to kill her?”

  Before Tree could answer him, something crashed into the Lincoln from behind.

  Baldur lost control of the car and it veered off the road straight into a lamppost. A slow motion halo of glass sprayed through the interior. The passenger side air bag deployed, a big white pillow bursting to embrace Tree.

  The world blurred and came to a stop. Tree felt as though he was floating in space. Perhaps he was dying, his soul departing his body. He did not want to think about where that soul might be headed.

  Then the sound of hissing steam and settling metal reached him. He heard Baldur groan beside him. Instinctively, he reached for the latch, got the door open and fell out of the car onto the pavement.

  He sat up, trying to clear his head. A green minivan lay crumpled against the rear of the Lincoln. The van’s windshield folded out tent-like. He saw Fudd stagger through the steam rising from the destroyed van. He had lost his glasses. Blood streamed down his pear-shaped face. He had a gun in his hand. He began firing blindly at nothing in particular, as if shooting a gun would solve everything.

  Other forms jumped into focus. The forms wore blue, and they too held guns. They returned fire. Fudd came to a stop, as though hearing something in the distance. Then he was flung backward, yanked hard by invisible wires.

  The sound of more gunfire echoed eerily through the fog beginning to cover everything. Tree was tired. He lay back on the pavement. Not very comfortable, he thought.

  But it would do for now.

  46

  Tree lay on a crimson desert. Buzzards circled lazily overhead, in no hurry to pick at his bones. Lifting his head, he saw a man moving toward him through the heat waves rising off the desert floor.

  A cowboy from the look of him, tall and broad-shouldered, walking with a curious, rolling gait. A battered and stained white Stetson shaded his eyes. He carried a saddle in one hand, a Winchester rifle in the other. A mangy-looking dog followed at his booted heels.

  When he spotted Tree, the cowboy came to a stop and lowered the saddle to the ground. The dog hunched and bared its teeth. The cowboy moved closer, and Tree could see that his face was rugged and lined, etched with the history of the American West.

  “I need help,” Tree managed to say.

  The cowboy put the rifle to one side and knelt to Tree. The dog stopped snarling and stretched out on the ground not far away.

  “I’ve got to get to my son, I’ve got to help him,�
� Tree said.

  “Right now, you’re not going anywhere,” the cowboy said in a gentle voice. “You’re pretty badly hurt.”

  “I’ve got to help him,” Tree repeated. “I can’t let him down.”

  The cowboy sadly shook his head. “I’m afraid this is it, partner. You’re going to die right here.”

  “No,” Tree gurgled.

  “Sorry friend, you don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. This is your life unfolding before your eyes, but I’m the hero, not you. You’re just a fella lost in the desert. A bit player in your own story, the character who dies so that I can go on and achieve the goals I’ve set out for myself.”

  “I don’t want to die,” Tree said. “I want to be the hero and save my son.”

  “Life will get you partner, it always does. Only in the movies do you live forever, and you ain’t in the movies. You’re in real life where there are no happy endings. That’s why I made so many pictures. Three or four a year.”

  “Yes,” said Tree. “I’ve always wondered about that. Why did you make so many?”

  “Because there are no troubles on a movie set,” he said. “When the camera stops rolling, that’s when the trouble starts.”

  “But there are no cameras.”

  “That’s why you’re in life, and I’m in movies.”

  Tree began to tremble. Or was someone shaking him? He opened his eyes. Freddie bent over him. He thought she looked so lovely, even with that worried expression on her face. She said, “Tree, wake up. You had a bad dream.”

  “He got it wrong,” Tree said.

  “Who got it wrong?”

  “John Wayne. He said there are no happy endings in life. But there are because here you are, and I’m alive, and everything is going to be all right.”

  Freddie gently kissed him. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Where am I?”

  “Sarasota Memorial Hospital.”

  There were bandages around his torso. A gauze pad was taped to his forehead. His right hand had been dressed.

  “How am I doing?” he asked Freddie.

  “You tell me.”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t feel anything.”