Natalie's Revenge

by Susan Fleet

  Why not have a meal at Longhorn Jacks, where Natalie Brixton had once worked?

  _____

  The restaurant was crowded so he took a stool at the bar. A young bartender in a white shirt came over and said, “What can I get you?”

  “A beer and lunch, but I got a question. I know a woman who worked here ten or twelve years ago. Anyone here now that might have known her?”

  “I’ve only been here two years. Lemme ask in the kitchen.” The kid disappeared through a door behind the bar. Moments later he came back. “The busboy might know her. Hank’s been here forever. He just went outside for his smoke break.”

  Frank said he'd be back, went outside and circled the building.

  A short black man with a white apron tied around his waist leaned against the back wall. A fringe of gray hair encircled his bald pate.

  “Hi, Hank? You got a minute?”

  “Got a ten minute smoke break,” Hank said, his dark eyes wary.

  “Have your smoke. It won’t bother me. Did you know Natalie Brixton when she worked here?”

  Hank pulled out a pack of Camels. “You with the police?”

  Hank had been around, had made him as a cop even without a uniform. When he lit up Frank noticed thick calluses on his fingers. “I'm a detective with the New Orleans department. And you're a bass player.”

  Raised eyebrows and a faint smile. “How’d you figure that?”

  “The calluses on your fingers. I played a little jazz trumpet years ago.”

  “Good observation.” Hank took a drag on his Camel, blew smoke. “But that’s what they pay you for, right?”

  “That and a few other things. You play with a Pecos group?”

  “Every Friday and Saturday. Get off work at six, clean up, go play at a little club near the bus station. What you wanna know about Natalie?”

  “You remember her?”

  “Oh yeah, pretty girl like that? Nice person, Natalie. Where she at now?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d like to talk to her.”

  Hank’s eyes got wary again. “This about Randy Brixton?”

  “Did you know Randy?”

  Hank flicked ash off his Camel and looked away. “Not really.”

  “How about Tex Conroy?”

  “Didn’t know him neither. Knew his daddy though. Chief of Police.”

  “I hear rumors about how Randy died. Do you know what happened?”

  “Heard the same rumors as you, ain’t gonna add none. Natalie had a tough life, lost her mom when she was ten, lived with the Brixtons eight years.” Hank grimaced. “That family’s screwed up, you ask me.”

  “Did Natalie tell you something to make you think so?”

  “Told me enough. Told me Randy was an asshole, didn’t have to tell me the mother’s a souse. Ev’body in town knows that. No wonder her husband left. I hear he’s living with some woman in Dallas.”

  “You got any idea where Natalie is?”

  “Nope. After Randy’s funeral, Natalie gave her notice and quit. You wanna find Natalie, talk to Gabe Rojas. Far’s I know he was her only friend, used to pick her up after work some nights.”

  “You know Gabe?”

  “Know him by sight. Never talked to him. Good kid though, never in trouble. Last I heard he made it big with them videogames.” Hank took a drag on his Camel and dropped the butt on the ground. “I best be getting back to work. You find Natalie, tell her Hank says hello and wishes her the best.”

  “I will. Thanks for your help. What’s the name of the club?"

  “The Calico Cat. Got a big sign out front, you can’t miss it.”

  Hank returned to the kitchen and Frank reclaimed his seat at the bar. It seemed clear that Hank had no use for the Brixton family, equally clear that he liked Natalie. And Gabe. Her only friend.

  He spotted Ellen Brixton lugging a tray of food and drinks into the dining room. He hoped she was getting big tips. A single mom with an alcoholic mother unfit to mind her child? Ellen needed every penny she could get.

  _____

  Assuming Mrs. Rojas had told her husband an NOPD cop would arrive at eight, he rang their bell at 7:45. Surprise was often a detective's best weapon. The house, a brick-front split-level with a two-car attached garage, looked expensive. Gabe Rojas must be doing okay.

  He heard high-pitch squeals and kids' voices approaching. A short man holding a squirming little boy opened the door. “Detective Renzi? My wife said you called. You’ll have to pardon the mess. I was playing hide-and-seek with my boys.” He grinned, his even white teeth contrasting with his burnt-umber skin. “Guess who lost.”

  “Daddeeeeee!” squealed the dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy.

  “Looks like you’ve got quite a handful there. How old is he?”

  “This is Carlos. He’s six and he’s got a twin brother, Jorge.”

  Frank followed them into the living room where another toddler, the spitting image of Carlos, was building a Lego airplane amidst Lego pieces strewn over the tawny-brown carpet. “Daddy, it’s not time to go to bed.”

  “Yes it is my little friend. Time for both of you to go see Mom.” Gabe Rojas mussed the hair on his boys’ heads and gave them a gentle shove toward the stairs off the foyer.

  “Beautiful kids. When my daughter was that age she never thought it was time for bed either.”

  “Too many fun things to do,” Rojas said. He was five-four at most, rugged but not overweight, and his face bore an amiable expression. “Would you like a cold drink?”

  “No, thanks. I had dinner at Longhorn Jack’s.” No reaction from Rojas.

  “Have a seat,” Rojas said, gesturing at a chocolate-brown couch opposite a big-screen TV and an entertainment center. “How can I help you?”

  The decor reinforced his impression that Rojas was comfortably well off, which mirrored his assessment of the man: comfortable in his skin as he sat on other end of the couch, relaxed and cooperative. Outwardly anyway.

  “I’m investigating a murder that happened in New Orleans last week.”

  “Who got murdered?” Rojas said, his dark eyes suddenly full of concern. “Someone from Pecos?”

  “Tex Conroy. Did you know him?”

  Visibly relieved, Rojas said, “Not well, but I knew him. What happened?”

  “Someone shot him." No reaction from Rojas. Strange. "Tex moved to New Orleans five years ago. Do you know if he had any enemies? Anyone that might want him dead?”

  A sudden wail came from a distant room. Rojas rose from the couch, went to the hall and called up the stairs, “Everybody okay?”

  A woman’s voice called, “We’re fine, Gabe, just a little soap in the eyes.”

  Rojas returned to the couch, looking troubled, and not about soap in the eyes. “Tex was in the football clique. Some of them could be ... obnoxious.”

  “Randy Brixton was Tex’s friend, right?”

  Rojas tensed and his mouth tightened. “Yes.”

  “Eight years ago he died under, shall we say, mysterious circumstances.”

  No longer relaxed and comfortable, Rojas said nothing.

  “How well did you know Natalie Brixton?”

  “Is that what this is about? Natalie?”

  “I talked to some people and they said you two were friends.”

  “In high school we were, yes.”

  “When did you last talk with her?”

  Rojas examined his fingernails as if some alien form of life had taken up residence there. “I haven’t talked to Natalie in years. After her high school graduation she left Pecos.”

  He’s lying. “Do you know where she is now?”

  “Detective Renzi, I told you I haven’t talked to her in years. How would I know where she is?”

  “Maybe she sent you a postcard. Where was she the last time you talked to her?”

  “I need to say goodnight to my boys.” Rojas abruptly rose from the couch and left the room.

  He knows something, Frank thought, something about Natal
ie Brixton.

  Five minutes later Rojas returned and sat on the couch, not looking cooperative now, more like belligerent. “I can't help you, Detective Renzi. I haven't seen Tex Conroy in years. Same with Randy Brixton.”

  “Where do you work?” A diversionary softball to mollify the man.

  “I own my own business. I design videogames."

  Frank gestured at the well-furnished room. "Looks like your business is doing well."

  "It was rough at first, but then one of my games took off." With obvious pride, Rojas said, "Six years ago I hired two software engineers and moved my business to Odessa to be nearer the airport. Now that we have a website, we ship worldwide. Last year we grossed twelve million. This year looks even better. Our next generation of games will be out in time for Christmas.”

  “Good for you. Everyone in Pecos speaks very highly of you. I talked with Ellen Brixton today. She said you were Natalie’s only friend.”

  “Ellen.” Rojas frowned. “How’s she doing? I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

  “She’s working at Longhorn Jack's. She’s got a son. But no husband.”

  “Ellen had it rough.”

  “Is that what Natalie told you?”

  “Yes," Rojas snapped, "that’s what Natalie told me. We were good friends in high school. It was not a romantic relationship.” He paused, seemed to struggle for control. “The Brixtons took her in after her mother was murdered. But I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”

  “I think you know some things that you’re not telling me.”

  “Maybe I do. Try this. Randy Brixton was making his sister give him blowjobs.”

  The gut-punch revelation made his skin crawl. “Did Ellen tell you that?”

  “No. Ellen told Natalie. Natalie told me.”

  He thought about what Ellen said when he asked if she missed her brother. Not really. Randy was a shit. And Tex? Good riddance to both of them. If what Rojas said was true, Randy was worse than a shit. He was a rapist. One who’d died under mysterious circumstances.

  And the person with him at the time, Natalie Brixton, had chosen a motto that said: Freedom and justice for all.

  But that didn’t prove she pushed Randy off the cliff.

  He took out a business card and gave it to Rojas. “If you think of anything helpful, call my cell phone anytime. And if you hear from Natalie, tell her I’d like to speak with her. Wherever she is.”

  He got back angry eyes and a clenched face. “I don’t expect to be hearing from Natalie. Wherever she is.”

  Maybe Rojas knew where Natalie was and maybe he didn't. But Frank was certain of one thing. Rojas had lied when he said he hadn’t heard from Natalie since high school. He’d take that to the bank.

  NATALIE

  1995 1996

  The summer before my senior year I got a job at Longhorn Jack’s. It was hard work lugging trays of steaks dinners and cocktails around, but the tips were good. I saved as much as I could. I still didn't know who killed my mother, but I figured I’d need money to find out. And do something about it.

  Randy went out drinking with his friends every night to pick up girls, so on my nights off I got to watch N.Y.P.D. Blue. I still liked the cop shows best. In June the girls in my class got excited when Reba McEntire won a Country Music Award. Big deal. She's not half as good a singer as Joan Jett.

  Ellen gave me a graduation present, a true-crime book, The Journalist and the Murderer by Janet Malcolm. Sometimes I think Ellen is smarter than she lets on. Gabe took me to the graduation party and told me about the videogame he was designing. We had a great time.

  One night in July when I ate dinner at home on my night off, Jerry said UPS was sending him to Dallas for five days to learn how to be a supervisor. “Then I’ll be making more money,” he said. Faye's face got that pinched look. Maybe she thought Jerry was taking his lover with him to Dallas.

  Later I got on my laptop and checked the weather forecast. The first four days he'd be gone it was supposed to rain, but Saturday was supposed to be sunny and hot. The next day I told Faye I wanted to treat her and Randy and Ellen to a picnic while Jerry was away. Because they’d been so nice to me all these years. It killed me to say it, but I put on a happy face like I’d learned in acting class and said, “I know a great place. Randy can drive us.”

  On Saturday I bought a big order of Popeye’s fried chicken and stopped at a bakery for an apple pie. Randy loved fried chicken and apple pie. At 4:30 I had him drive us to the place where Gabe and I had our picnics near the bluff above the Pecos River. It was hot but we sat at a redwood picnic table under a shade tree and ate dinner as the sun went down.

  Faye and Ellen didn’t eat much but Randy ate like a pig, as usual. He also polished off a six-pack of beer. Faye drank the OJ cocktail she’d brought in her thermos. Nobody was talking and thinking about what I planned to do made me nervous. The fried chicken sat in my stomach like a lump of lead.

  After Randy pigged out on apple pie, I took out my camera. “Wow, look at that beautiful sunset. Let me take your picture, Randy.”

  “Here?” he said, and scrunched up his face like an idiot.

  “No. Over by the bluff.”

  I left the table and waved for him to follow. Randy kept grumbling that he was hot, but I kept walking until we went around a bend. When I looked back, Faye and Ellen were out of sight.

  I pointed to a clump of bushes up ahead. “That’s the best spot.”

  The best spot to do what I had decided to do, the place where you could look over the bluff and see the jumble of rocks piled up beside the river.

  “Stand over there near the bluff and look handsome.”

  What a joke. His Harley-Davidson T-shirt had yellow sweat stains in the armpits, and his legs were fat and hairy below his cutoff jeans.

  But I had to get him in the right position.

  He went over to the bluff and faced me.

  “Closer to the edge, so I can get the sunset and the river in the picture.”

  He backed up three paces. Better but still not close enough.

  I let the camera dangle from the strap around my neck and took the .38 Special Gabe got me out of the pocket of my jeans. It's small and easy to hide and it felt good in my hand. Especially when I thought about the day Randy broke Muffy's neck and felt the iceberg, cold and hard, inside me.

  “What’s that, you little gook? You got yourself a pea shooter?”

  Randy looked nervous—he'd left his gun in the glove compartment of his car—but not worried. Yet. I gripped the gun with both hands and aimed it at his chest. “You killed Muffy.”

  That wiped the smile off his face. “Cut the shit, Natalie.”

  “Back up, Randy.” Now he was two feet from the edge of the bluff

  “You’re crazy. I always knew it. Your mother was crazy too.”

  I wanted to shoot him, but that would be a mistake.

  And I didn’t intend to make any mistakes. Not today.

  “Does it make you feel important when you make your sister give you blow jobs?”

  “Shut up, you gook bitch. I never made—”

  “Yes you did. She told me. You’re disgusting, Randy. Back up.”

  “Put the gun away.” He clenched his fists and took a step forward.

  I pulled the trigger. He yelped and grabbed the lower part of his leg. I hadn't intended to hit him, but I had to make him understand that I'd shoot if he didn't do what I said.

  “Back up or I’ll shoot you in the heart.”

  Now there was real fear in his eyes. He held up his hands, palms out. One had blood on it. “Don’t shoot. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Yes you did. You meant to hurt me when you killed Muffy and you meant to hurt me when you told your friends my mother was a prostitute. And what you did to Ellen was worse. You made your own sister give you blow jobs.” All the while I kept the gun aimed at his heart. “Back up or I’ll shoot.”

  He backed up a step. Now his heels were at the
edge of the bluff, no place to go but down. “Please,” he said. Now he looked terrified.

  I loved it. Now I was in control.

  I fired a shot over his head to scare him and it worked just the way I'd planned. He lost his balance and windmilled his arms to keep from falling.

  But he couldn’t. He screamed as he fell over the bluff.

  My hands were shaking and my heart was beating faster than it did after a taekwondo workout. I crept to the bluff and looked down.

  Fifty feet below me, Randy lay on the rocks. I had hoped that he would bounce off the rocks into the river and float away. He hadn’t, but I was pretty sure he was dead.

  And I was glad. Justice for Muffy and Ellen.

  I did one of my taekwondo spin moves and hurled the gun out into the fast-flowing river. Then I ran back to Faye and Ellen.

  When I got to the picnic table I was gasping for breath.

  “Randy fell!” I shouted. “He fell over the bluff!”

  Bleary-eyed from her vodka-and-OJ cocktail, Faye looked at me, mystified. Finally she said, “I think I heard shots.”

  Ellen looked at me with her pale gray eyes. Her dead eyes.

  “I didn’t hear a thing,” she said.

  ____

  Three men from the Reeves County Sheriff’s department questioned me for hours, asking the same questions six different ways. But I stuck to my story. I told them Randy was fooling around near the edge of the bluff and he’d had a few beers (which was true) and he slipped and fell over the edge. Then I squeezed out some tears and they let me go.

  Faye didn’t seem too upset about Randy. I think she was glad he was dead. I know Ellen was. I don't know how Jerry felt. Texas men don’t cry so Jerry kept up appearances at the funeral. He never asked me what happened. I figured the cops told him what I’d said.

  A week after Randy's funeral I quit my job at Longhorn Jack's and brought my laptop to Gabe’s house. He says that even if you delete files on a computer, people can retrieve them. I told him I was leaving and gave him the laptop and asked him to make sure the hard drive got erased.