by J. T. Lewis
They both were serious as they stared at me now.
“We want to know what happened to our husbands Gabe,” May said determinedly.
“And why they were targeted,” Raven added with resolve. “We’re beyond sure that someone is behind their deaths, someone from around here.”
“But we’ve gone about as far as we can on our own,” May admitted, “That’s why we called you Gabe.”
“We both know that if anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s you,” Raven continued, “we both thought of you simultaneously.”
I was intrigued, I had to admit. They had done some good legwork, and had come up with a workable theory on their own. I was impressed, and told them so.
Both women beamed at that.
“But listen, I don’t care how much money you have, if I think it’s a dead end, I’m going to stop. I will give it my best shot, but if it’s over, I need you to trust me that it’s over.”
Both women nodded in unison as Raven grabbed my cup and poured me some more coffee.
“Now Gabriel Celtic,” May said excitedly, “Tell us about this new daughter of yours!”
Chapter 8
September 15, 1999
“Just sign on the dotted line JJ,” Bill stated as he slid the document across the desk.
A few pen strokes later, and it was done.
“Thanks JJ, I think you’ve made a wise and practical decision.”
“Thanks Bill, I think so too. Would you like a drink?”
Bill shook his head, “I’d better not…I have an hour and a half drive ahead of me.”
“A responsible citizen,” Justin James intoned with a tipsy smile. “I’m not driving tonight, so I’ll be having another.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Bill stated as he pulled out the beautiful leather binder from his attaché case.
“Here’s your copy JJ, all filled out and ready to go.”
Justin looked over with a “humph.”
“Pretty nice for the price,” he said with a smile, obviously pleased.
“Nothing but the best for my customers JJ.”
The business at hand done, Bill rose to take his leave, offering his hand to the other man.
“Been a pleasure JJ! But I had better get out of here, there are storms coming in.”
A roll of thunder seemed to sound on cue, seeming to reiterate Bill’s words.
They shook hands and Bill left the house in a run, water pouring out of the sky. Jumping quickly into his car, he immediately turned on the heater to rid himself of the chill that seemed to come upon him at the end of every transaction.
Not that he minded…it was a good chill.
Chapter 9
September 15, 1999
I left Raven’s house an hour later, having filled in my old friends on a little of my life of the last thirty years. I had learned much about theirs also, although we had really only scratched the surface. As I finally made my way down the narrow lane and onto the main road, I noticed an old Road Runner parked down the road to my left.
I probably made note of it because it had been one of my favorite cars back in the day, and the red one I had glanced appeared to be gleaming and fully restored. I had at various times in the past thought about finding an old car and restoring it, but there always seemed to be something else to do.
I was pretty sure at this point in my life that I had finally left any thoughts of such a hobby behind. And yet…
Shaking off the car nonsense finally, I let my mind get back to the case at hand. It was certainly an interesting case. But I had to think about where to even start.
We didn’t know what motive anyone would have to kill these guys, or what might connect them. Before I had left Raven’s house, I thought to ask if their husbands had ever had any business dealings with each other, or any other interactions. May replied that she thought they had met a couple of times at a reunion or two, but that was it.
Raven added that she had also thought of that, and found out that Calvin did indeed own stock in the company that Tom had worked for. It was a very small holding for him however, and she couldn’t find where he had ever had any direct contact with anyone in the company.
I would have to get Abby to sneak into the police database again to look for clues. She still had access…sort of. She still held the position of Crime Scene Photographer for the county, which really only allowed her unofficial access.
I had a feeling however, that with these men all being executives, there would be very little in useful information from the law side of things. Maybe Abby would be able to dredge something up off of the internet. She was a wiz with a computer, a skill that I as of yet hadn’t invested much time in.
Give me a file cabinet full of records and I was happy!
Sitting at a stoplight, I glanced into my rearview and spied the Road Runner a few cars back…either that or another one that was as equally restored.
Not believing I would be getting tailed, especially with someone driving a classic hotrod, I nonetheless decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Turning right, I headed down Walnut Street and into the city center…plenty of places to lose someone there.
The red hotrod did indeed take a right when the light changed. Still not totally convinced, I took another right onto Center Street, accelerating to gain some distance as I kept an eye out behind me.
Sure enough, the Road Runner turned down Center Street, but by then I had gained a couple of blocks on him. Rolling through a couple of stop signs, I took a left on Front Street and headed toward the river. Hitting High Street and making a left, I just caught a glimpse of the red hood coming around the corner behind me.
Accelerating once more, I pulled into the next street and parked across the road from the courthouse, quickly exiting the SUV and running across the street. My goal was a copse of large trees in the courthouse yard, and I made it into them just as the Road Runner came into view. I watched from hiding as it made the turn, then slowed when the driver spotted my parked truck. Idling slowly by, the driver angled into the next open slot about eight parking spaces down from mine. I quickly pulled my gun and ran along a row of hedges along the opposite side of the street from the car. Reaching the railroad tracks, I hid my weapon and tried to act nonchalant as I crossed the street once more.
Quickly cutting in behind the first parked car, I crouched down and made my way to the car beside the old Roadrunner. Glancing over the trunk of the car, I observed that the driver was straining his neck looking back toward my truck. Taking advantage of his distraction, I quickly rounded the back of the car beside his in a crouch, rising as I came to his open window.
All movement inside the car ceased as the sound of my gun’s hammer made itself known.
“Nice car,” I stated coolly.
Chapter 10
September 15, 1999
The man was still for a few moments, “Do I have the honor of meeting the Gabriel Celtic?”
I was taken aback for a few seconds until I realized that most people know the name of the person they are tailing.
“Maybe,” I said tersely, “And who might you be? And why are you following me?”
The driver turned his head toward me, and I noticed that he wore Elvis sunglasses; his coal black hair slicked back tightly to his head.
“Truth be known Mr. Celtic….I was trying to find you. I would like to work for you.”
Shocked would be an understatement of my reaction at that moment.
“Work for me?”
“Yessir…I have heard great things about your work…I’d like to help.”
I realized at that moment I was standing in the middle of the street with my gun pointed at a stranger in the middle of town. This was sure to draw unwanted attention soon.
“Are you armed?” I asked the stranger, who spread his coat lapels for me to see he wasn’t wearing a piece.
“I have a .38 in the glove box…unloaded.” Pointing down to his seat, he questioned, “May I?�
�
I nodded; keeping my gun trained on his head as he reached over into the passenger seat and grabbed a book laying there.
“This is the tool of choice for me these days Mr. Celtic.”
In his hand was a very professional looking Bible. I have always called the good, soft sided leather-bound Bibles professional since many that carried them were men of the cloth.
My brain was working overtime trying to assess my situation. He seemed to me to be low risk at this point, not currently dangerous although a little crazy sounding to me. I un-cocked my weapon and holstered it at my belt.
Now, what to do about him? This was definitely not the location for this conversation. He had me intrigued, but I was not at the point of trusting him yet. And why would anyone seek me out…especially to help me. The back of my neck felt like it was burning again, and I rubbed it as I gave some more thought to the statement.
“I assume you’re not from around here. How well do you know the town?” I asked the stranger as I glanced around the street. I didn’t like drawing attention anytime, and the current situation was making me a little nervous.
“I’ve scoped it out pretty well over the last couple of days,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“You know where the Legion is?” I questioned, figuring the dark confines of the bar at this time of day would offer us some privacy.
“I surely do Mr. Celtic.”
“Ok, you head there, and I’ll follow you.”
He nodded at that as he reached up and keyed the ignition. The engine came to life with a deep throated rumble…I loved these old cars.
He started backing out and I was about to turn toward my car when an unanswered question hit me again.
“You never did tell me your name.”
Hesitating only briefly as he looked me in the eye.
“You can call me Preacher.”
Chapter 11
September 15, 1999
We pulled into the lot at the Legion, and the man was out of his car and leaning on the trunk before I could exit my vehicle. His hands were crossed in front of his light blue blazer holding the Bible.
As we entered the dark, smoky confines of the bar, I went up to sign in my “visitor”.
“What’s your last name…Preacher?”
“Just Preacher,” he replied with a smile.
Shaking my head, I left the last name blank
“Want something to drink?” I asked.
“Coffee would be wonderful!”
Well, at least he had good taste in drinks. I ordered two coffees and we made our way to the table in the back corner. I was silent for awhile as I sipped my coffee and observed the unusual stranger sitting across from me. At about 5’10”, he was stocky, but not fat. I was unable to determine his age, suspecting his hair color to be not his own. His build kind of reminded me of Frank, my old partner that had been killed last year by the Monk. (1)
Looking around, I noticed that we were sitting at the same table that Frank and I had sat at the last time I had been here. A shiver ran down my spine momentarily at the thought. I still missed my buddy…I wonder what he would have thought of this stranger offering his help.
“So…Preacher, you say you want to help. What have you done before, and why do you think you can help me?”
Preacher pursed his lips as he set his cup down on the table, seeming to choose his words carefully.
“As to why I think I can help you…let’s just say that in another life, I did a lot of the same kind of work that you do. Investigate murders, robberies, even finding escaped prisoners.”
Sizing him up as he spoke, it appeared to me that he was being truthful.
“Ok, then I guess my next thought is…why aren’t you still doing it…your old job?”
Leaning back into his chair, he interlaced his fingers and let them rest on his stomach, staring down at them as if they held the answer.
“That part is a little tricky Mr. Celtic, and I’m sorry to be vague, but there is some of it that I can’t tell you.”
Leaning forward, he took off his Elvis glasses and looked me square in the face. His eyes were a pale blue…at least one of them was. The other was quite apparently a glass eye, with the coloring a little off from the real one. There was a prominent scar running from his eyebrow to his cheek. Doubtless this was the cause of his vision problem as the scar dissected his eyelid.
“Let’s just say…I was at one time in one of the initial agencies of the U.S. government. Let’s also say, I got into some trouble. Not with the agency…with one of the criminal entities. You see…I have a price on my head.”
I was shocked.
“I got a little too close to some things,” he continued, pointing then to his eye. “Got this as a reward…and a bounty for my cold dead corpse.”
I was unsure what to say next. His story was bizarre, but just out there enough to be true.
“Can’t your…agency help you?”
“Oh, they do what they can,” he exhaled as he sat back in his chair. “But I’m damaged goods…they won’t use me any more.”
“What about Witness Protection?” I asked, fully invested in his story now.
He smiled a sad smile at my question.
“Until very recently, I was a guest of the US Marshals. They stuck me out west…set me up in a bookstore! As you can imagine, I did a lot of reading. That’s where I first started reading of your exploits. I don’t know if you realize this, but you and your cases have made the national news quite a few times.”
I had to admit, that was not something that I had been aware of. I hardly ever watched the news, and had little interest in what they had to say…about anything.
“So, what happened? Why are you here and not out west?”
“Well sir! Tell you the truth…I was bored stiff. I wasn’t cut out to be a shop owner. I left the program a month ago.”
“What about the danger?” I asked, a little worried, “Aren’t you afraid someone will come after you?”
Thoughts of dealing with the mob or worse in our little county quickly crossed my mind. There is no way I wanted to be a party to anything like that.
“The guy they are looking for no longer exists Mr. Celtic, I am officially dead. I look different too…plastic surgery…except for the scar, I made them leave it. Their guy that gave me this…the one they sent to kill me…well, he’s dead. He was the only one in their organization that knew of it, and only for a few minutes before I…disposed of him. As long as I stay off the radar, there isn’t any reason to believe they would ever find me.”
I was highly conflicted. The guy seemed genuine in his offer to help, but as with most things in life, he came with his own unique set of baggage. It always seemed to come down to the decision of whether it was worth taking on the baggage. Besides, I wasn’t sure we actually needed help, and told him so.
“I’m not sure how busy we can keep you Preacher. Besides, it’s going to be hard to pay you without a last name.”
His smile revealed a set of perfect teeth, probably an added benefit of the cosmetic work he had mentioned.
“I’ve already thought of that Mr. Celtic.”
“Gabriel is fine…or Gabe.”
“Why thank you Gabriel,” Preacher said with a grin, “It’s a fine angelic name you have, one of the reasons I first noticed you by the way. As I was saying, I have already thought of a solution for the money problem…you don’t need to pay me.”
I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly.
“I don’t need to pay you? How will you live?”
“Oh, I get a retirement of sorts from my last job. I have to go out of town every month or so to meet someone to get it. If you can see your way to paying my expenses, gas and such, that’s really all that I need. Of course…it would have to be cash. And if you don’t have any work periodically, so be it. I have hobbies.”
That struck me as funny and I grinned. The bartender was refilling our cups, and I was using the interruptio
n to think about Preacher’s offer. He did seem to have a lot to offer, and he seemed to have thought through most of the negatives. With the multistate characteristics of this current case, it was starting to look like we could use some help.
“I assume you can tail someone better than you did today?” I asked with a smile on my face.
Preacher busted out in laughter at that, taking a moment to recover before answering.
“Yessir…I wasn’t trying to hide from you, just looking for a good opening.”
I sat there for a few more minutes, sipping my coffee as I mulled over his proposition. He definitely wasn’t licensable as a Private Detective with the state, but anyone could work under my license if they weren’t a felon. Being off the books, I guessed we could classify him an informant if it ever came up.
He also seemed more than willing to work with us on details. It definitely would be nice to have the extra help once in awhile, but there was more to it than that for me. It seemed that I felt a certain kinship to this misplaced soul. He had done his job, but something had inadvertently gone wrong, forcing him into a life not of his choosing.
Although I had made the choice to go to South America when Betty had been killed, ultimately, I really had no choice at all. I couldn’t just stick around and exist…much like Preacher’s bookstore experience I guess. (2)
“I’m inclined to bring you in Preacher, but I need to talk it over with my partner. Do you have a phone number so that I can get in touch with you later?”
“Sure do! Do you have a piece of paper?”
I pulled my notebook out of my pocket, but couldn’t find a pen.
“I’ll have to get a pen at the bar…” I started, when a pen magically appeared in his hand. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like he had pulled it out of his Bible in some way.
As he was writing down his number, I took a closer look at the book now lying on the table. By the time he scooted the notebook back to me, I was still unable to discern where the pen had come from.
