Dead Peasants

by Larry D. Thompson

  Dwayne stared into his cup as he absentmindedly stirred the coffee. “Yeah, when I started buying dealerships, I was still a young man. Most of the employees were fifteen, twenty years older. At one time I figured that those policies would put my retirement on easy street. Looks like that dream is over. Hell, I’ll never be able to afford to retire. I’ll be selling cars until they put me six feet under. In fact,” he managed to smile. “I told one of my managers the other day my exit strategy is feet first.”

  Quillen considered his options before replying. “Look, Dwayne, I’m sorry I said I’d close you down. We’ve got to work together. I will require a current list of every one of your assets, down to the last screw in every one of your parts departments. That way if the examiners call, I can show them that there are assets to back up your loans. And I want a current list of every one of those life insurance policies, including names, social security numbers, amount of coverage and last known address. I’ll be monitoring the social security website. If I find one of them dies, I’ll expect to have a check in my hands a few weeks later. Understood?”

  Allison nodded his agreement. “Understood. You’re just doing what you have to do. You didn’t create this goddamn mess either. I’ll even get you a financial statement on Allison Southwest monthly instead of quarterly.”

  11

  The house closed for $4,600,000 and Jack had a problem. He gave his house in Beaumont to his long time legal assistant, complete with furnishings. By doing so, he knew he would have to hire an interior decorator in Fort Worth and start from scratch. The only thing he didn’t anticipate was that his interior decorator would be Colby. He called her for a recommendation and she invited him to her house for a drink. When he walked through the front door, he understood why. From the entry chandelier to the stairway to the dining room, the living room and kitchen, everything blended perfectly. Jack couldn’t describe the style, but he loved it. Hell, for that matter, since it wasn’t western he wouldn’t know what to call it.

  Colby led him to the kitchen and asked his drink preference. “Tito’s vodka on the rocks,” he replied.

  She smiled and poured two before escorting him out to a patio facing a small back yard, complete with waterfall and babbling brook.

  As they settled down beside the waterfall, they toasted. Colby asked, “What’s your preference in design?”

  Jack hesitated. “Damned if I know. I’ve only ever had western. I’m willing to try something different, but it’s got to be masculine.”

  Colby sipped her drink and thought. “How about Mediterranean?”

  Jack stared back with a blank look.

  Colby smiled and went into the house, returning with a couple of magazines. “Here, let me show you.”

  She flipped pages slowly and Jack nodded with each page. When she completed the two magazines, Jack said, “That’s for me. Who do you recommend?”

  Colby smiled coyly. “Why, me, of course.”

  “Price?”

  “I’ll make my money from the retailers. I’ll make fifteen percent off the retail price and it doesn’t come out of your pocket. To do the house right, you’re looking at a quarter million. I’ll be well paid. If you like the finished product, I’ll accept dinner on the patio as a tip.”

  Jack nodded his agreement and Colby got to work. She furnished the kitchen and master bedroom first so Jack would have a place to live.

  Colby made Jack sleep upstairs in a room fitted only with a bed and a chair until she completed the master bedroom. She also made him promise that she would lock the master bedroom door and only she would have a key until it was completed. Jack grumbled but agreed. Two weeks later she was ready for the showing.

  “Shouldn’t we have a band playing or something? Jack asked as Colby unlocked the door.”

  “Jack, behave yourself,” Colby replied. “I’ve spent a lot of time to make sure it perfectly fits your personality.”

  Colby opened the double doors to reveal a twenty by twenty master bedroom. A king-size four poster bed occupied one wall and extended out into the rest of the room. A plush green spread covered the bed. A sitting area included a leather couch and two leather chairs. Canister lights filled the room. A thick brown carpet consumed all but the loudest sounds. Green drapes covered the windows, easily opened with the push of a button. The remote on the nightstand controlled a sixty inch HDTV that dropped from the ceiling.

  Jack nodded his appreciation. “It’s beautiful. Thanks.” He grinned. “Now I just need to find someone to share it with.”

  Colby was tempted, but demurred. “Remember that I’m just the interior decorator.”

  The next day Jack came back home in the middle of the afternoon to find a moving truck backed up to his front steps. Colby was supervising the unloading of the dining room table and chairs. Wearing jeans, a white T-shirt and a bandanna around her head, sweat glistened on her face and arms.

  Jack parked in the driveway at the front of the house and walked toward the porch with a grocery sack. “Looks like you could use a break,” he said.”

  Colby wiped her face on her sleeve. “You got that right. Just let me make sure they get this table through the doors without scratching it, and I’ll join you.”

  Jack observed for a couple of minutes while Colby barked orders to the furniture crew, then went to the kitchen were he placed his package in the freezer and sat at the kitchen table. When Colby came from the dining room, and collapsed on a kitchen chair, he went to the refrigerator.

  “Here, I figure you could use this.” He retrieved two cartons of ice cream. “Chocolate Chip is my favorite, but I kinda figured you for a Cherry Vanilla kind of girl.”

  “You must have been peeking in my fridge.” Colby smiled. “Three scoops for me.”

  Jack filled two bowls and set one in front of Colby as he pulled his chair back to the table.

  “Delicious. Couldn’t have come at a better time. You do this for all your decorators?”

  “Yep. Of course, you’re my first.”

  Then came the rest of the house. After six weeks it was done, subject to a couple of pieces on back order. At about the same time, Jack had his other vehicles hauled from Beaumont. In addition to his pickup, he had a Blue Bentley, a red Ferrari, a black Harley, and a dark green Hummer. Counting the pickup, that left one garage for storage, a riding lawn mower and garden tools. The last to arrive was his luxury RV that he bought several years before to use as an office and residence in a marathon case in the Rio Grande Valley. Jack had the driver back it onto the concrete pad next to the garage, and looked past the garage, over the Trinity to the old bomber plant. You’d be proud of me, Dad, he thought. I made it from Byers to Alta Lane. I’m just sorry you’re not here to share the moment with me.

  12

  Two months earlier, four men finished their regular Saturday morning golf game at Shady Oaks and made their way to the men’s grill. Dwayne Allison and Beau Quillen were still on reasonably good terms at the time. They were joined by Buddy Johnson, a real estate developer and Ralph Warren, an independent oil operator.

  “That was a helluva a chip for a birdie on number seventeen, Beau. Tiger Woods would have been proud of that one.”

  “Everyone gets lucky once in a while. Any predictions on how the Cowboys will do this year?”

  “Hell, if they finish eight and eight, it would be a miracle,” Buddy snorted. Jerry Jones built that Taj Mahal for a football stadium. Hundred thousand seats and half of them may be empty in December.”

  “Hell,” Allison added as he sipped his beer, “The Cowboys may be America’s team, but Houston is about to become Texas’s team. Looks like they may finally have their act together this season.”

  After ordering lunch, the talk turned to politics and the recession. “Hell, Ralph,” Buddy said. “You’re about the only one around who’s in a recession proof business. Oil prices may go up and down, but somebody’s still going to buy your product.”

  Ralph was distracted, watching the
news on the big screen television mounted on the wall. The sound was off, but with closed caption capability, the newscaster’s words were at the bottom of the screen. Suddenly, Ralph burst out laughing. “Can you believe that? Some son of a bitch wanted his wife killed and paid five grand to a hit man, only it was an undercover cop.”

  “Reminds me of T. Cullen Davis twenty years ago,” Allison said. “He used to be one of my best customers at the Cadillac store.”

  “All right, here’s a question,” Ralph said. “Suppose you wanted to have someone bumped off, how would you find a real hit man?”

  “Beats me,” Allison said.

  “I wouldn’t have a clue,” Quillen added. “Although there have been a couple of times in my career that I might have considered using one.”

  “I know what I would do,” Buddy said. “I’d go see Nico.”

  “Nico?” Beau asked, a puzzled look on his face.

  “You all know Nico,” Ralph said. “He’s that Italian that has the breakfast and lunch place on Vickery down by the railroad yard.”

  “Yeah, everybody knows him,” Dwayne said. “Started that place to cater to the railroad workers, but now everybody in town gets by there once in a while. Best breakfast in town.”

  “Well, if you’d been going there for years like I have,” Buddy said, “you’d know that he’s been closed down a couple of times, once for six months and once for about a year. After the second closing, I asked him about it. He just matter of factly said he’d been in the joint for selling heroin. I’ll bet he’d know someone from his prison days, and he’d keep his mouth shut for a couple of grand.”

  13

  The customer parked in front of Nico’s Diner around three in the afternoon, just about closing time. He noted that the parking lot was deserted. When he entered the empty diner, Nico was at the cash register, counting the day’s receipts.

  “Hey, Boss. Good to see you.” Nico called every male customer boss, even the little kids who got a big kick out of it. “We’re about to close. You want some coffee?”

  “That would be great, Nico. I know where it is. I’ll help myself. When you get finished, I have something I want to talk with you about.”

  Nico nodded as the customer poured black coffee and took a seat at a corner table by the window. When Nico finished, he made his way to the table, stuffing his pants pocket with a roll of money. “Good thing about being the owner is Uncle Sam doesn’t know what goes into my pocket every afternoon, and I damn sure ain’t going to tell him.” Nico took a seat across from his customer. “Now, Boss, what can I do for you?”

  The customer hesitated and then plunged ahead. “Nico, what I’m about to say has got to remain between you and me. If you can’t help me, just say so and forget I ever asked.”

  “Don’t worry, my friend,” Nico replied. “I’ve got a very convenient memory, and I can forget a lot of stuff.”

  “I’m in over my head with a loan shark. He’s threatening me and my family. I’m looking for someone that can get him off my back. I figured you might know someone from your days in Huntsville.”

  Nico nodded and thought about the proposition. He also weighed how much his customer would pay for his services. “I think I know just the man. Him and me shared a cell for a while. He’s out now and also living in Fort Worth. My finder’s fee’s gonna be ten grand. That too steep for you?

  “I can handle it.”

  “Nico pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Here’s my bank account and routing number. You get that to my account first thing in the morning. Once I know it’s there, I’ll call my friend. Plan to meet him at Sly’s Place out on the Jacksboro Highway tomorrow night about nine. Give me your cell number. I’ll call you if there’s a problem.”

  The next night, the customer pulled into a gravel parking lot in front of a dimly lit bar. “Sly’s Place” was hand painted on a small sign. When he got out of his pickup, he decided he would tell the man to call him Boss and thanked Nico for the idea. He entered the bar. Three men were playing pool. He walked up to the bartender. “Give me a Bud.”

  The bartender put a bottle on the bar and took a five dollar bill in exchange. Boss moved to an empty table at the back and took a seat. He was half an hour early. He ignored the beer and counted the minutes. About ten after nine the door opened, and a man approached his table. The man had hair down to his shoulders, a neatly trimmed beard and wore horn-rimmed glasses. A baseball cap covered his eyes. A gunfighter from a western movie came to mind.

  “Name’s Hawk. I hear you’re looking for some help.”

  Boss nodded. “Call me Boss. What do you do for a living, Hawk?”

  Hawk lowered his voice as he glanced around the bar. “In the daytime I saddle my horse and ride around the stockyards amusement area. Kids like to pose for pictures with me. Otherwise, I take on an occasional job if it strikes me as the right thing to do and the money’s good. I presume you’re not wanting me to pose for pictures.”

  “You ever killed anyone, Hawk?”

  “That’s really none of your business, Mr. Bossman.” Hawk scratched his beard before he continued. “I can tell you that I’m not opposed to the concept.”

  “I want someone eliminated. I should have the information you’ll need on him in another day or so.”

  Hawk nodded his head. “What’s in it for me?”

  Boss rubbed his hands on his thighs and finally said, “$40,000 on this one, wired to your bank account once I have confirmed the death.”

  Hawk raised his eyebrows slightly at the amount. “That’ll be quite satisfactory; only on this job, since I don’t know you, I’ll need $20,000 wired in advance with the balance when the job is done. You said ‘this one.’ Should I be expecting more jobs in the future?”

  Boss shook his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I agree with the split payment. I’ll evaluate your performance at a later date.” Boss reached into his pocket and retrieved a cell phone. “Keep this with you twenty-four hours a day. I’ll contact you on it. Use it only for calls from me. After I call you the first time, you’ll have the cell number I’ll be using.”

  Hawk smiled as he took the cell phone and put it in his shirt pocket. “As far as I’m concerned we have a deal. My only other requirement is that we only discuss a meeting place on the phone. The details of the assignment will be worked out in person. I’ll pick the place for the meeting.”

  Boss reached over to shake Hawk’s hand

  “There’s one more thing,” Hawk said. “I know who you are. At least I know your face. I read the Star Telegram every morning and I’ve seen your picture from time to time. Don’t worry, though. I don’t rat out a business partner.”

  Boss gulped, but then realized that he had jumped into the deep end and couldn’t crawl out now. He nodded to Hawk, pitched a ten on the table and left the bar. When he got to his car, he drove to the edge of the highway where he stopped and stared at the cars speeding by. He pounded the steering wheel, thinking that he had been a businessman his entire life and expected to drive hard bargains, but this was the first time he had ever stepped all the way over the line.

  14

  Boss turned into the parking lot in front of the Forest Park duck pond at dusk. Hawk had insisted their meeting would be there. Boss got out of his car and watched a young mother and father with two children feeding the ducks. The boy and girl, who looked about five and six, would retrieve pieces of bread from a sack held by their dad and rush down to the water’s edge to toss the bread as far as they could, usually a few feet. The ducks would converge on the place where the bread landed, and one would emerge victorious, gulping down the bread before the others could take it away. Then, they would turn back to the kids and the game would start again.

  Boss envied the carefree family and wished for those bygone days. Life had dealt him straights and flushes for thirty-plus years. Now the good cards were gone, and he was lucky to draw a pair of deuces. He sighed as the father called his brood together and
told them that it was getting too dark to stay in the park. The family walked to their car with the kids begging to come back tomorrow. Once the kids were buckled into the back seat, the parents climbed into the front. When they drove away, Boss noticed that the emblem on the trunk was from an Allison Southwest dealership.

  It was ten minutes before he heard the creaking of boards on the bridge over the pond and saw the glowing end of a cigarette. Hawk appeared. “I’ve been parked on the other side. I wanted to make sure no one else would interrupt us. Nice family,” Hawk said.

  When Hawk got close, Boss asked, “Why this place and why now?”

  Hawk smiled as he lit another cigarette. “The duck pond is usually busy up until about sunset. Then in another hour or two it’ll become a lover’s lane. We should have it to ourselves now. You got something for me?”

  Boss started to reply, then stopped. He hesitated for long enough that Hawk was becoming suspicious, then erupted with a sneeze. “Sorry, must be something around here I’m allergic to. There’s a man in Breckenridge. Name’s Jim Morris. Used to be an auto mechanic. Now he works in the oil fields. He’s your first target. I want it done in the next two weeks.” Boss handed Hawk a piece of paper. “Here’s what I’ve got on him. Gotta look like an accident. Clear?”

  “You got it, Boss,” Hawk replied as he ground his cigarette under his boot. “I assume you’ll wire $20,000 to my bank account tomorrow. I’ll let you know when the job’s done.” Hawk turned. Again Boss heard the creaking of boards on the bridge as Hawk disappeared into the darkness.

  15

  Once the house was complete, Jack invited Colby over for a housewarming dinner. She did as Jack directed. She punched in the code at the driveway gate and drove around to the back where she found Jack dressed in shorts, flip-flops and a blue T-shirt. When he saw her Lexus appear in the driveway, he hustled to help her out. Colby was wearing her own T-shirt, green shorts and sandals. Her shirt had a slogan emblazed on the front, Where The Best Begins. Jack hoped that was prophetic as his gaze took in green eyes accentuated with laugh lines showing through her sun-browned face, sensuous red lips that broke into a smile that revealed near-perfect teeth, a figure that had to see the gym three or four days a week and deeply tanned legs. Damn, he thought. She’s not wearing make-up. Better yet, she doesn’t need any. And that hint of perfume coming from behind her ears reminded him of a vineyard at harvest time. She says she’s got a boyfriend, but, at least, I can give it my best shot.