by Jason Deas
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Michelle. You still working at the diner? I haven’t been there in a while.”
“Yeah. Mondays and Tuesdays—for some reason nobody gets their hair cut on those days.”
“Interesting. How’s that new beau treating you?”
“He’s still being sweet. I still can’t figure out why he has to keep talking with his ex though,” Michelle said revving up the clippers.
“Didn’t you say last time he has two boys?” Benny watched as she expertly clipped his hair.
“Yeah.”
“I would guess that’s why,” Benny answered.
“I suppose so,” Michelle confessed. “She don’t like that he’s dating me.”
“I would imagine a woman wouldn’t like her ex dating anyone.”
“Why do you have to always be right?” Michelle asked, chuckling.
“I don’t know,” Benny responded with a belly laugh. “You might have to ask my ex-wife that one.”
“Where is she now?” Michelle probed cautiously.
“Couldn’t tell ya,” Benny answered. “Don’t have a clue.”
Benny’s final stop before returning home was to Ned’s, the local technology nerd and mad scientist. As he drove down Ned’s long driveway, he spotted him hanging off the limb of a tree in his front yard. Ned was a wiry fellow with patches of hair in odd spots around his head. He invented a hair growing remedy that did not work out quite as he planned that left him with this very unusual look.
His thick spectacles accentuated his buggy eyes, which always seemed to be searching for something. Ned was a young man but carried himself as if he was nearing a hundred. As Benny parked the car and got out he thought, I just hope he doesn’t fall out of the tree and knock himself out before I can get some answers.
“Ned, what the hell are you doing?”
Ned answered as though what he was doing was completely normal. “Just getting some bark samples to try and figure out why these trees are growing too slow.”
“Can you come down for a second?” Benny looked up at him.
“Sure, Benny. Can you pull that ladder over here?” Ned put some bark pieces in a zip lock bag and slowly made his way down the ladder. Once down he said, “What’s on your mind Benny?”
“What do you know about Johnsonville Binoculars?”
“Those are hi-tech Benny. A lot of bird-watchers use them. Their advertisements say you can see a mile with them. Probably cost about eight hundred dollars or so. Why?”
“Just curious,” Benny said. “Thanks Ned, I gotta run.”
“OK Benny.” Ned focused on the tree again. “Let me know if you find anything out about the murder.”
Chapter 8
Benny decided to make a quick pit stop at his house to see if his cat Jezebel was still speaking to him. He hadn’t been by in a couple of days and needed to refresh her food and water and pick up some clothes.
Jezebel was a bit of a loner. Being a rescued alley cat made her quite different from the cats he had growing up. She was a shorthaired black and white, with stripes resembling a zebra. He recalled only a couple of times she had actually let him pet her.
With a cat door leading outside, Jezebel could come and go as she pleased.
The mailbox was full as usual and the grass was so long it would be a real pain in the ass battle with the lawn mower to get it back to a respectable height. Benny checked the inventory of the fridge just in case some groceries magically appeared. The mustard, empty bottle of ketchup, and the jar with one pickle was still there.
The pantry was worse. There was a bag of cat food, paper plates, and a roll of duct tape. Why did I even buy this house? I’m paying a thousand dollars a month on a mortgage for an oversized cat house.
As Red got off the bus in Tilley, the reality of his actions dawned. He traveled half way across the country because of a picture in an old, tattered and torn newspaper clipping. The autopilot that had driven him to this point abruptly shut off, taking with it the adrenaline that had ignited the fire within him. Now, fear surfaced.
Back home in the Ozarks, Red felt comfortable in town because he was with his father. Being such a small town, everyone knew of his verbal and social deficiencies. He dropped his head to avoid eye contact with anyone and began walking briskly away from the center of town.
His belongings were in a large gunnysack draped over his shoulder. He used it on the farm to transport grains. His heart stopped racing as he took a few steadying breaths. Looking up from his feet, he stopped. In front of him stood a quaint little house with a red picket fence. Although it didn’t look like one, Red supposed that it was this town’s version of a fire station. The fire station in his hometown was an insignificant brick building painted red. He wondered where the trucks were. There was only a single vehicle, a Jeep, in the driveway. At any rate, he needed help. He knocked on the door.
Benny heard the knock as he gathered the remaining articles of his preferred clothing that were not already on the boat. He thought it must be a salesperson, Girl Scout, or nosey neighbor. When he answered the door, he stood perplexed as he gazed at at someone who looked just as confused as him. After a long, strange and uncomfortable silence, Benny broke the standoff by asking, “Can I help you?”
“Fire.” Red continued to stare at Benny.
Benny’s first thought was that he might be a special education student who had wandered away from the nearby high school. He studied him for a moment. Too old to be a high school student.
He had dark, inquisitive, worried eyes. Unkempt, long brown hair fell on his muscular shoulders. He was lanky, but firm. His skin tone revealed he spent most of his life under the sun. He was handsome in an odd country way and Benny decided that he looked like a redneck lifeguard. Now even more confused Benny asked hesitantly, “Where?”
“Fire here,” Red said. His intonation made his inquiry sound like a statement. Red pointed at the red picket fence and said, “Red fence. Fire.”
“Oh,” Benny said. “You think this is a fire station?”
“Yeah,” Red answered as his eyebrows rose, displaying glee over his successful communication. “You fire man.”
Benny thought about the picket fence and how it drew in the kid. Drawn to bizarre occurrences and the oftentimes deeper meaning accompanying peculiar events, Benny decided not to turn the kid away just yet and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Red.”
“I know you saw the red fence, what – is – your – name -?” Benny asked as though he were questioning a non-English speaker.
“Red. Red Jasper.”
“This is too much,” Benny said. The red fence that perplexed him and a kid named Red standing on his front porch was just too weird. I have no idea why I’m doing this..
“Come inside Red.” Benny waved Red into the house. He gestured the universal sign for drink. “Can I get you a drink? All I have is ice water.” Red shook his head yes. “I’ll be right back. Have a seat there on the couch.” Benny pointed to his couch.
When Benny walked back into the room with the water, Red sat on the couch with his gunnysack at his feet. Jezebel jumped onto his lap. Red gently scratched her head as she purred and bobbed her head up and down as if to say, “Don’t stop.” Benny stopped mid-stride in disbelief, as the cat had never done this to him or any of his other guests. “Did you pick her up?” Benny asked.
“No,” Red stated. “You little zebra jump up.”
Benny cautiously handed Red the glass of water in an attempt to keep from spooking Jezebel and said, “By the way, my name is Benny.”
“Thank you Bendy,” Red said, taking a drink.
“You’re not from around here are you?” Benny asked.
“Red put the dirt on mama and papa and rided bus,” Red simply stated. “Mama sick, tractor crash papa.”
“Where are you staying?” Benny asked. He could tell Red didn’t understand the question and he tried again saying, “Where are you going to s
leep tonight?” Red shrugged his shoulders and the look on his face told Benny he had not thought of this yet.
He had a feeling if he let Red walk out the door after his drink, he would not be sleeping in a bed. He wanted to know more of Red’s story but decided not to pursue it until later. Being a good judge of character and feeling comfortable and empathetic with Red, Benny made up a quick lie with the hope that Red would accept his offer.
“Red, I have another place where I live. I rent this house by the day, week, or whatever. It just so happens that nobody is living here right now. If you would like, you can sleep here for a few days until you decide where you want to go.”
Without speaking Red sat Jezebel on the couch next to him, reached into his pockets and pulled out some money. Red looked at his money, showed it to Benny and said, “Red have this.”
Benny could see that it was thirty dollars and said, “You can pay me later.” Benny had no intentions of taking his money and wondered what the hell he was doing getting involved with this kid. Benny knew Red probably needed some rest but he needed to talk to Vernon.
“I have a few things I need to do Red. You stay here and rest. The sheets in the bed are clean, so you can take a nap if you want, and there are towels in the bathroom closet if you want to take a shower. There’s soap and shampoo under the sink. Do you understand?”
“Some,” Red said hesitantly.
Benny showed him around and pointed to all the things he previously mentioned making hand gestures as he went along. Before he left, he pointed to his stomach and asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Very hunny,” Red answered.
“I’ll send some food over, and I’ll be back in a few hours. OK?”
“Yep,” Red petted Jezebel but didn’t make eye contact with Benny.
As Benny drove off he dialed his favorite pizza place in town. His friend Slick answered the phone saying, “Alfonzo’s Pizzeria, we’re not open for deliveries yet.”
“Hey Slick, it’s Benny.”
“Hey Buddy, you never call this early. I don’t know nothing about the murder so don’t ask.”
Benny shook his head in exasperation. Definitely no secrets in this town.
“I need a favor Slick.”
“Anything for you, sir.”
“I know you’re not open yet, but do you have the ovens fired up, and is Vinny there?”
“Yes to both questions, my friend.”
“I’ll tell you the details later, but I have a friend staying at my house who just rolled into town from a long bus trip and I don’t have any food in the house for him. He doesn’t speak English well enough to go out and get something.
“I have some important things to take care of right now. Could you throw something together and put it on a tab for me? If Vinny will run it over to him, let him know I’ve got a twenty dollar tip with his name on it.”
“Gladly Benny. Pizza? Sandwich? Wings?”
“Yeah, that all sounds good. You’re the best, Slick.”
“Mama Mia, he must be hungry!”
“Can the Italian shit, Slick,” Benny joked. “You’re the only Puerto Rican in the world that must say that.”
“Ciao,” Slick said, laughing.
Benny knew that Vernon would call him at some time during the day but he couldn’t wait. He called him first.
Vernon answered with a tired voice, “Hey Benny, did you get some sleep last night?”
“I got enough,” Benny answered. “It doesn’t sound like you did. Can I buy you some coffee or lunch?”
“How about both,” Vernon said, with relief in his voice. “Where are you?”
“At my house,” Benny answered.
“The one on land or water, Benny?”
“Land.”
“Why do you keep that place and why did you even buy it?” Vernon joked. “Meet me at The Deck in about half an hour.”
“See you there.” Benny pulled out of the drive and watched the red picket fence disappear in his rear view mirror.
The Deck was a dome, with a series of decks surrounding the central atrium. There were differing sized decks, each having a sole table, so parties no matter the size would be able to have their own semi-private space. For those wishing to dine in the company of others, the inside was decorated with a breathtaking mosaic.
All of the glass doors leading to the private decks let in ample amounts of sunlight during the day, while cleverly concealed lights aimed at the image in the mosaic reflected light that bathed the patrons in soft pastels at night.
As Benny walked in, he could see Vernon through one of the glass doors. Everybody excluding his wife and kids referred to him as Vernon. His actual name was William Delapanapolous Junior. Benny always thought it was quite a strange name for a black man.
Benny tried on multiple occasions to uncover the origins of his name unsuccessfully. He could understand Bill or Billy or Willy, but Vernon? Vernon was one of the nine black people in the town of Tilley. He had an athletic body, which was in the beginning stages of softening. He had recently traded in his jogging and weightlifting hobbies for fishing and ball tossing with his twin six-year-old sons. His wife Connie was a stay at home mother. Vernon carried himself like a humble prince. He had a natural gait that gave the illusion he was gliding.
Benny and Vernon sat at their preferred spot just outside of the kitchen. An exhaust fan hung off the side of the building separating their deck from the next one. The hum of the motor concealed their conversation.
“You look like shit,” Benny said as he sat down. “I stopped by the bar and ordered you an espresso and a coffee. You haven’t been to sleep have you?”
“No, I haven’t and as tired as I am I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a while.” The drinks came. Vernon took a sip of the espresso, paused, and finished it like a shot of liquor. “This guy is good, Benny. We’ve got nothing. No prints, hairs, fabrics, shoe or tire prints, or anything that would give us an inside track except the binoculars.
“Everything he used to hang the body can be bought at any store nationwide. The binoculars however are a specialty item. You can’t pick those up at Wal-Mart.”
Benny picked up a menu. “I stopped by Ned’s earlier and he said they’re pretty expensive little suckers, mainly marketed to bird watchers. He said a pair runs about eight hundred bucks. This is our lead, Vernon. Whoever did this wants to play a game and this is his first move. We’d better prepare ourselves for more of this cryptic bullshit.”
“Do you want to know who the dead guy was?” Vernon asked. “We identified the body.”
“I don’t think it matters, do you?” Benny answered and asked.
“Nope.”
Chapter 9
The Bakers were a family of high social standing and wealth passed down through generations. The Bakers believed in hard work and prestigious degrees. The Bakers owned one of the largest and most profitable food service industries in North America. It included farms, factories, trucks by the hundreds, and employees by the thousands.
Baker Foods supplied restaurants, schools, hospitals and more with food and food-related products. The small company that began with a small farm, and a man unsatisfied with his life, grew. With this growth evolved the need for more than farmers, canners, and transporters.
As years passed, the family expanded mightily, as it became the norm for female members to bear six children or more. Rose Baker set the record with fourteen. With the increasing wealth, came the Bakers’ ability to provide the children with the best educational opportunities available.
The Baker clan took advantage of these prospects that in turn produced and filled its internal needs for financial wits, influential and creative marketers, managers, law-minded individuals, left-brains, right brains, and global thinkers.
William James Baker was supposed to grow up to be a businessman, accountant, banker, or prominent lawyer like his father.
This was supposed to be the legacy of William James Baker. It was
not.
The day following his birth, like the winning lottery ticket snatched from its owner’s hand, a deaf-mute couple abducted who was soon known to the world as The Baker Baby. The deaf-mute husband and wife, named Mattie and Frederick Jasper, were unable to conceive children of their own. They lived in a three-room shack deep in the Ozark Mountains. Excluding their kidnapping crime, they were good people and loving parents.
They decided to name their new baby boy Fred after his new father. Removed from society by their remote location and the fact that neither of them could speak nor hear, they decided that no one would ever suspect or question the new child.
They had never related to anyone their inability to have children of their own. They made sure that no one saw Mattie for nine months before their planned heist and Frederick made sure upon his trips into town to sell crops and buy supplies to gesture to folks that Mattie was pregnant.
He had great difficulty communicating with anyone besides Mattie because no one in town knew sign language. But, he somehow managed. Frederick knew his contacts in town understood Mattie was pregnant because when he made the motion with his hand over his stomach like it was fat, and then pretended to rock a baby in his arms, he saw how people’s faces showed their understanding with smiles and nods of their heads.
They drove fifteen hours one way in their old truck on the day planned. Arriving on the outskirts of Atlanta, they rented a cheap motel room and removed their license plate, replacing it with a cardboard sign that said “tayg stowd.” Inside the motel room, they both bathed and Frederick shaved. He put on a suit and tie while Mattie put on a dress and some makeup. They pinched every penny for a year to afford their costumes. When they walked out of the room, they looked like a completely different couple.
They had planned and repeatedly practiced their routine once inside the hospital and how they would divert the attention of the workers. An hour later, they headed home with their new baby. They were two miles down the road before anybody knew what happened.
