by Jason Deas
Chapter Six
Cam awoke when he heard the front door to his A-frame open. He had actually made it to his bed the night before and reached into the nightstand for his gun. He held the gun on the door and listened. Footsteps walked directly across the front room toward the bedroom and without knocking, opened the door. It was Claude.
Seeing the gun pointing at his head, Claude laughed. “Are we going to make a habit of you pretending you’re going to kill me?”
“Are you going to make a habit of coming into my house unannounced?”
“I’m here to check on my babies.”
“I could swear I locked the door.”
“You did,” Claude said, picking up Cam’s discarded shirt and pants and tossing them into a laundry basket. “I made myself a key. You left your second copy on the kitchen table. I felt like it was the right thing to do since you were borrowing some of my art. I will need to check on them from time to time. That is, unless of course, you have enough money to buy them.”
“How much?” Cam asked sitting up in bed.
“Umm … They’re not for sale.” Claude walked to the other side of the bed and started making it while Cam was still in it. “Get in the shower, stinky. We have an office to makeover. I looked in the window this morning and was embarrassed to be seen in front of the building.”
Cam swung his feet from the bed and stood. As soon as he did, Claude pulled the covers tight, and fluffed the pillows. He walked to the window and pulled the curtains.
“How do you like your eggs?”
“I don’t have any eggs.”
“You didn’t look in the fridge last night, or the cupboards?”
“No.”
“The $423 was for groceries. You’re stocked.”
“Over easy,” Cam said, wiping his eyes.
“Sorry, I only do scrambled,” Claude walked out of the room.
Cam got in the shower and noticed Claude had stocked it with shampoo, his shaving mirror, and soap. A new razor sat next to the soap dish. A few minutes later, as he shaved, Cam almost cut his throat when the door flew open.
“Cup of coffee on the counter,” Claude said in a singsong voice. “Black. You get enough sugar in all the brown liquor and beer you drink.” The door shut.
Cam rarely looked into his own eyes, but he needed a reminder of why he shouldn’t drink. In the shaving mirror, he peered into his own eyes. Instantly, he saw his car flying down the road at a dangerous speed, weaving back and forth as he tilted a bottle to his lips. As if watching a movie, he also witnessed the two police cars on his tail. Blue flashed like strobe lights across the scene. An arm came out of his vehicle and a bottle was thrown into the air. A perfect toss landed the empty glass in the middle of the first police car’s windshield. The cruiser veered off to the side and the second car took the position directly behind Cam’s. It inched closer until it was right on his bumper. The bumpers touched ever so lightly sending Cam out of control. At one point his car faced the opposite direction.
The car came to rest among the smoke and smell of burning rubber. Cam watched as he fell out of the car screaming profanities in such a rage that spit flew from his mouth. He seemed rabid. Four police officers approached him, guns drawn. When the first officer reached for him, Cam exploded with a wild thrashing. His fist darted out and landed under the first officer’s eye. Cam ripped open his shirt and pounded his chest. Before he could strike again, the other three were on top of him as he fell to the ground under their weight.
With a Herculean effort, Cam fought his way back to his knees still spouting venom. A Taser gun sparked twice and he lay motionless on the ground. The cop he had punched walked over holding his eye and kicked him in the face.
When he emerged from the shower, Cam smelled bacon and heard the sizzle of a frying pan. He sipped his coffee as he made his way to his room to get dressed. He heard the pop of a toaster and Claude humming.
Dressed, Cam entered the kitchen to find a table full of food. Bacon, eggs, toasts, grits, and an assortment of jellies filled the small circular table.
“Thanks,” Cam said. “I don’t think anybody has ever been this nice to me in my whole life.”
“That’s because you put off a vibe that says stay away from me.”
“Do I?” Cam asked, filling his plate with food.
“Oh yeah. Look up aloof in the dictionary and there is a picture of Cameron Caldwell.”
“Aloof?”
“Yeah, your picture is also under drunk, tasteless, and the guy who is going to marry my sister.”
Cam was about to spread grape jelly on a piece of toast when he dropped the knife onto the table, splattering the jelly in every direction.
“Is this what this is all about?” he asked waving his hand around the room. “Are you trying to butter me up and get your sister married? If so, this is not going to work!”
“Easy tiger,” Claude said, as he wiped up the purple gobs. “I’m not trying to force anything. I just know things. Do you think I want my only sister to hook up with a tasteless, aloof, drunk? Let me answer for you, Mr. Caldwell. No! But, I see a wee little bit of hope in you. I see how her face changes when she talks about you. Why? I don’t know. I see potential in you, but I don’t see much. But she’s my sister, and I want her to be happy. And for the record, I would do this for anyone—it’s just the way I am. Bored. Bored senseless, Cam.” Claude laughed. “I don’t know if Daphne told you or not, but she doesn’t have to work. She does it because she loves it. And I do what I do because I love it. And you’re my new project.”
“I’m a project?”
“You’re more than a project. You’re more like a full-time job. Now eat. The embarrassment of your office is killing me and all your potential customers. The thought of it turns my stomach.”
Cam thought of his first glass of whiskey and ate.
Cam made it until noon without a drink, mostly out of inconvenience. Claude had taken measurements of the office and left, leaving him without a ride. He picked up the phone.
“Pizza Chalet,” a female voice answered.
“I need to speak to Turner, please.”
“He has a cell phone, you know.”
“Can I have that number, please?”
“No. This isn’t the number you call for information, and this isn’t Turner’s personal answering service.”
“Aren’t you friendly,” Cam mumbled.
“What was that?”
“I said I would like to place an order.”
“Fine. You will be able to talk to Turner when he brings it to you—he’s our only driver for lunch today.”
“If I could talk to him before, that would be best. I need him to pick something up on the way here.”
“We’re not a courier service either.”
“You’re not a lot of things,” Cam mumbled again.
“What?”
Cam placed his order.
Turner arrived less than thirty minutes later with the food.
“Your office still looks like a hobo clubhouse.”
“Thanks. Claude is working on it. I tried to get the girl who answered the phone to let me talk to you before you came.”
“She’s feisty.”
“She’s something.” Cam paid for his pizza and put the box on his desk. With the transaction complete, he pulled two twenty dollar bills and a ten out of his pocket and handed them to Turner. “I need you to do a little errand for me on your next pizza run.” Turner pocketed the money. “Get me a fifth of whiskey and keep the change.”
Turner scratched his head and pulled his hand down his face. He shook his head slightly back and forth.
Cam could see he was mulling over a decision. “If it’s going to get you in trouble, forget about it.”
“How cool are you?” Turner asked taking a step back. “I mean, I know you were a cop and all, but what’s your take on illegal liquor?”
“I’m not a cop anymore,” Cam said, with a wink.
&n
bsp; The wink was all the confirmation Turner needed. He reached into his pocket and handed Cam back some of his money. “I’ll send someone by.”
Cam looked at the bills Turner handed him. “I seem to be light a twenty.”
“Finder’s fee,” Turner said, walking out the door.
As Cam was finishing his third piece of pizza he saw an old pickup truck park in front of the building. Because of the way the sun was shining on the windshield, he couldn’t tell who was inside. As the body neared the door, he could tell it was Hank from the gas station. He carried a paper sack.
As Hank entered the office, he slid his sunglasses from his eyes to his forehead. He looked around.
“This is a real hole.”
“Thanks. That seems to be the overwhelming opinion of my decorating skills.”
“This isn’t decorating. This is what’s leftover after a garage sale. This is the stuff someone couldn’t even give away.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Cam pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Nope.” Hank looked around and Cam waited for him to say something else. “Do you have something against art? Or photos? For Christ sake, at least get a calendar.”
“I’m working on it!”
“No you’re not, but that’s besides the point of why I’m here.”
Hank reached into his paper sack and pulled out a milk jug. The container was filled with a clear liquid. He sat it on the desk in front of Cam. He also pulled out a six-pack of beer.
“First one’s free. Kind of a home warming gift. Be careful if you’ve never had any. You’ll wake up on this office floor tomorrow afternoon sometime wondering what happened. If you need a drink before closing time, I recommend the beer.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Good. Don’t say anything.” Hank’s face turned serious. “And I mean it. If it ever gets back to me that you talked about this or shared what you now know with anybody, without my permission, there’s hell to pay.” Hank ran his hand over his face with an overt gesture. His smile was back. “Now that being said and out of the way, if you want a refill, all you need to do is let Turner know or come by the store.”
“Thank you. And don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”
“I trust you, or I wouldn’t be here. Promise me one thing, though.”
“OK.”
“If I know Billy Prescott, he’ll be here sometime this week inquiring about your services. He’s been trying to catch us for years.”
Cam wondered who “us” was.
“Don’t turn him down or he’ll be wise to you. Take a little bit of his money and tell him you can’t find anything.”
“Good advice. I’ll take it.”
“I’m an old man who’s had his fun, but I’d hate to see your sweet friend Daphne take a fall.”
Chapter Seven
After his fourth beer, Cam watched a large, white, box-truck drive in front of the office. The driver swung it around and began backing up toward the front door. Cam walked outside to meet him. When the operator killed the engine, the driver’s side door opened and Claude hopped down.
“It’s show time,” he said, with a flamboyant hand gesture.
Cam heard the other door shut and watched as a pair of legs came around the other side of the truck. It was Turner.
“Get out of here,” Turner ordered.
“Why?”
He pointed at Claude. “The maestro doesn’t like his clients to see his work until he’s finished.
“I’m not really a client.”
Turner pointed toward Daphne’s diner. “Get.”
“Let me get my things,” Cam said. He walked inside, hid the gallon jug in a closet, and took his two remaining beers to the diner.
“I’ve been kicked out of my office,” Cam announced to the seemingly empty diner.
“The maestro works!” Daphne called from the back. “Play some tunes on the jukebox and I’ll be out in a minute. I’m putting a few last things in the cooler.”
Cam searched his pocket for a dollar and pulled a crisp one out. He opened a beer and studied the choices before him. Feeding the dollar bill into the machine, Cam marveled at the variety of musicians before him.
The Eagles filled the empty room as he walked away from the music box. Cam looked back toward his office to see Turner and Claude unloading a couch.
“Stop looking,” Daphne said, suddenly appearing behind him.
Cam turned. He smiled. “You should see what he did to my house.”
“Talented, isn’t he?”
“Are you sure he’s not …”
“Definitely not. Can I put your other beer in the cooler?”
“It won’t have time to get cold.”
“I thought so. You want to get a booth?”
“Yeah. You were going to tell me something.”
“Yeah. And I hear you might have something added to your list of need to know items?”
“Like?”
“I hear you saw Hank today.”
“Oh that.”
“Yeah, that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But, I will. What would you like to hear about first?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Well, it all kind of goes together anyway.” Daphne paused, thinking of where to start. “The booze operation’s been going on for as long as I can remember. Hank and my daddy started it. When Daddy died, I guess Hank felt like Claude and I were owed our cut. He offered to buy us out or let us in. We decided to get in. Although we had a lot of land, we didn’t have a lot of money. The taxes way out here aren’t that much, but they were bigger than the money we had. And we wanted to keep the land. So, we worked it out. I won’t go into the details, but we all have our integral parts to the operation.”
“What does all this have to do with Blanca and Chief Lee?”
“A lot, really. Chief Lee was born and raised here in Miner’s Bluff. Officer Gomez was not. Both women were severe advocates of the law, following it to the letter. Blanca followed Chief Lee around like a puppy dog. She looked up to her like she was God or something. Now, like I said, Chief Lee was a ball-buster. She didn’t care who you were—if you broke the law—your ass was thrown in jail or you paid for it.”
“But …” Cam said. “There’s always a but.”
“But, being from Miner’s Bluff she had a blind spot for shine. It was a part of her upbringing. Truth be told, her parents put her through university with illegal liquor money. She was the kind of person who was so just, that she wouldn’t have been able to arrest you for something she did herself. Now, don’t get me wrong, she never ran it herself or took an immediate part in the operation, but she benefited from it and she knew it.”
“And Blanca knew this?”
“I don’t know. I do know that anytime Blanca wanted to bust somebody, Chief Lee found a reason to let them go, tip them off, or squash the idea. She tipped us off multiple times.”
“And this got under Blanca’s skin.”
“You bet it did. She didn’t understand. She thought it was dirty. Chief Lee just saw it as a way of life.”
“And what does Billy Prescott have to do with all this?”
“Billy Prescott is a money man. He wants to be the one with the most. He had a sense of what was going on. He wanted nothing more than Claude and me not to be able to pay the taxes on our land. He wants that land more than words can say. He knows we have money and he can’t figure out where it’s coming from. He thinks he knows, but he’s not sure.”
Cam opened his last beer. “Damn.”
“Damn is right.” Daphne reached across the table to his hand, which was resting on the table top. She gently placed hers on top. “I know you’re a man of the law, but we’re trusting you with our secret. You trusted me with yours and now I’m trusting you with mine.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Cam said.
“I’d like
to hire you,” Daphne said, pulling her hand away.
“Me? For what?”
“I think Billy Prescott killed my daddy.”
An hour later the white box-truck pulled in front of Daphne’s diner. It had disappeared from the front of Cam’s office a half hour earlier. Cam assumed they were returning the truck. Cam and Daphne watched the vehicle out the window. As they watched, two police cars screamed up on either side of the truck. Officer Gomez emerged from one of the cars. Billy Prescott was in the passenger seat. Another officer jumped out of the other car and pointed his gun at the passenger seat.
Cam and Daphne hurried to the door. As they began to exit the building, Officer Gomez yelled for them to go back inside. They stepped back.
One of the officers held his gun on Turner as he made his way out of the truck. Once he was face down on the ground, he was cuffed. The same happened to Claude. The two men were taken to the curb. They looked at each other quizzically.
Billy Prescott emerged from the cruiser grinning from ear to ear.
“Your days of fooling me are over,” he said, pointing at Claude and Turner. “Luckily for me, I know everything eventually.” He patted his chest. “And I’ve been waiting for this one a long, long time.” He walked toward Claude until he was face to face with him. “Let me ask you a question, Clyde. When you’re in jail, how’re you going to feel about people skiing down your old piece of land? You can stare at those walls every day and think about me counting my money. Tourists from all around will tramp around your land in their high dollar ski boots. This is your unlucky day.”
“Why are you so sure?” Claude asked.
“Well, since you’re going away for a long time, I don’t mind divulging my secrets. You ever heard of jailhouse secrets?”
“No.”
“Well, luckily for me, my ex, Alice spent the night in jail last night and overheard a conversation about a moonshine delivery today.” Billy leaned over to whisper in Claude’s ear. “I signed over full custody of my daughter for this action.” He backed away from Claude and smiled. “And I don’t care.” He smiled again.
“Alice?”
“Yeah, Alice. You know who my ex is.”
