The Devil's Right Hand

by J. D. Rhoades

  Keller didn’t trust himself to turn around and look, but he could hear the smooth confidence in Wesson’s voice. “No sir,” he said. “She had, ah, other duties to attend to. And your honor, I was forced to use my baton to subdue Mr. Keller when he attempted to reach for the firearm I was taking from him.”

  “And is it not true, Mr. Keller, that you threatened to take Officer Wesson’s baton away from him and beat him with it?”

  “No sir,” Keller said through clenched teeth. “I told him I was going to take it away from him and shove it up his ass.”

  Tharrington reddened. He picked up his gavel. “Bail is set at fifteen thousand dollars. Cash.” He nodded to the deputy Sheriff standing at one end of the bench. “Take him back to the holding cell.”

  “Your Honor,” a soft female voice said. “I’ll be supplying Mr. Keller’s bail bond. But may I request that the court change it to a secured bond rather than cash?”

  Keller looked around for the first time. She was standing at the back of the courtroom, dressed in a floor length black trench coat that contrasted starkly with her white-blonde hair. Her jeans were black as well and she wore a white blouse buttoned up to the neck, despite the outside heat. Her hands were covered with black gloves. One hand rested on the silver handle of a dark cherrywood cane.

  “And you are...?” the judge asked.

  She walked down the center aisle of the courtroom with a pronounced limp, leaning on the cane for support. “Angela Hager, your honor,” she said. “H & H Bail Bonds. I’m Mister Keller’s employer.”

  The judge tapped his chin with his pencil. “Hager, Hager...” he said thoughtfully. “You look familiar...”

  She arrived at the bar and looked up at the judge. She brushed her hair from her eyes with her free hand. “My husband was Jeffery Hager.”

  The judge dropped his pencil. “Yes, of course,” he said. “I--I remember the case. You--ah--you seem to be doing well.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now, about the bond. I can supply a cash bond, but it’s less paperwork if I don’t have to transfer that much cash. The IRS, you know.” She smiled slightly. “I assume H & H’s credit is still good with this court?”

  The judge didn’t answer at first. He was staring in fascination at the narrow band of puckered scar tissue that peeked above the high collar of the blouse. She waited patiently, still smiling. Finally the judge realized that he was staring and his gaze broke away he began randomly shuffling papers on the bench.

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “Certainly. Fifteen thousand,” he said to the clerk. “Secured by H & H.”

  “Thank you, your honor,” Angela said. She approached the low desk to the side of the bench where the court clerk was organizing the forms she would have to sign. She didn’t look at Keller until she finished signing. Then she stood up and smiled at him. “I’ve got to get back,” she said. “There’s no one in the office. I had to lock up to come down here and get you. Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah,” Keller said. “I’ll pick up my car from impound. I’ve got some more leads to run down. I’ll keep in touch.”

  She patted his shoulder. “Back to work, cowboy,” she said, then walked out.

  The judge picked up his gavel, prepared to adjourn court “Your Honor,” Keller’s lawyer spoke up. “There is still the matter of Mr. Keller’s vehicle and ah, its contents, which were impounded.”

  The judge seemed to have recovered his composure. “He can have the vehicle back,” he said. ”Not the weapons or the restraints.”

  The lawyer tried again. “Those are the tools Mister Keller needs to conduct his business, if your honor--”

  “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” the judge snapped. He stood up. “Adjourn court, Mr. Bailiff,” he ordered.

  “This court stands adjourned,” the bailiff called out. “God save the State and this honorable court.”

  “Mister Keller,” a voice said.

  Keller turned. Officer Marie Jones was sitting in a red Honda Accord in a parking space in front of the courthouse. The driver’s side window was down. Her uniform blouse had been replaced by a white T-shirt with a Gold’s Gym logo on it. Her police cap was gone but her light-brown hair was still pinned up. She still wore the mirrored shades.

  “You need a ride?” she said.

  Keller approached the vehicle. “My car’s in the impound lot,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. She leaned over and opened the passenger side door. “Get in. I’ll take you over there.” Keller got in. She pulled away from the curb without speaking. She was dressed in a pair of black workout shorts and tennis shoes. Keller looked her over. Her body was lean and muscular, the body of a swimmer or long-distance runner.

  After a few moments, she spoke up. “I’m sorry about Eddie,” she said. “Officer Wesson, I mean.”

  “That would have meant a lot more if you’d been there to tell what really happened.”

  She sighed. “No one told me about it. I went off-duty and went to the gym.”

  “Would you have told the truth if you’d been there?”

  “Of course I would have,” she snapped. Keller looked at her for a long moment. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I guess. “ She sighed. “Fuck, I don’t know.” She sounded weary.

  “What is he, your boyfriend?”

  Jones yanked the wheel suddenly, steering the car over to the side of the street and slamming on the brakes. She turned to Keller. “Get out,” she said. Her voice was absolutely flat.

  “Whoa, whoa.” Keller said. “I’m sorry, I--”

  “I am so SICK of that bullshit!” she slammed her open palm on the steering wheel. “From Eddie’s wife. From my ex. From every asshole in the station. The ones that don’t assume I’m fucking Eddie assume I’m some sort of dyke because I’m not fucking him. Well, fuck them, and fuck you too.” She grabbed the wheel with both hands. She rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment, getting herself under control. Her knuckles were white.

  “You’re right,” Keller said softly. “I was out of line. It was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.”

  She took a deep breath and straightened up. She looked straight ahead for a moment, took another breath, blew it out. She turned to Keller.

  “I sit for the Sergeant’s exam next month,” she said. “I’ve got a kid that my ex keeps threatening to take away every time I make a fuss about the back child support. You think I need that kind of problem?”

  “Not meaning to add to your load, but you’ve got another problem. Wesson’s a psycho,” Keller said. “He’s apt to turn on you.”

  Jones shook her head. She pulled the car back into traffic. “He’s really an okay guy,” she said. “He’s just been having some problems at home. He’s wound a little too tight these days, I guess.”

  “Officer Jones,” Keller said. “Your partner’s more than wound too tight. I’ve seen that look in people’s eyes before. He’s getting ready to cut loose. And when he does, he’s going to kill somebody. And maybe get himself killed as well. Or you.”

  She shook her head again. “He’s my partner,” he said. “I’m supposed to look after him.”

  “You’re supposed to look after each other,” Keller said. She didn’t answer. Keller could see he was getting nowhere, so he changed the subject. “How’d you find out about the hearing?” he asked.

  “Your boss got me on my cell phone,” Jones said. “I tried to get here, but I ran into her in the parking lot and she told me it was all over, that you’d been turned loose.” She looked at Keller. “Do you mind if I say something?”

  Keller shrugged. “Depends on what it is, I guess.”

  Marie laughed. “Fair enough. It’s just that your boss-- Angela, is it?”

  “Yeah, Angela Hager.”

  “She’s pretty, but she’s kind of spooky-looking. What’s the deal with the gloves?”

  Keller leaned back in the seat and looked out the window. “Sh
e’s got some pretty bad scars. Burns. She doesn’t like people staring at them.”

  “How’d she get burned?”

  Keller looked at her. “Her husband founded H & H bail bonds. He was a big shot, knew everybody, liked to throw his money around. He also used to beat her up. Finally, she had enough and took out a warrant on him. He went into court and denied everything. He had been a major supporter of the D.A. in the last election, so they dismissed all charges without even a trial.” Keller looked out the front window. “Jeff Hager went home, kicked in the front door and broke both her legs with a baseball bat so she couldn’t run. Then he set the house on fire.”

  “Damn,” Jones whispered. “He do any time for it?”

  “No,” Keller said. “But only because he shot himself in front of her.”

  “How’d she get out?”

  “Dragged herself out of the house on her elbows.”

  Jones gave a low whistle. “That is one tough lady.”

  “Yeah,” Keller said. They were pulling up to the chain-link fence that surrounded the impound lot. As Keller moved to get out, Jones took off her sunglasses and turned to him.

  “Mister Keller,” she said. “When this comes to court, I’ll tell what happened. All of it.”

  “That’s not going to help your career much,” Keller said.

  “I know,” she said.

  Keller looked at her. She obviously meant it. Her jaw was set and she stared at him defiantly, as if daring him to question her resolve. He noticed that her eyes were blue, the sharp, hard blue of the sky on a clear winter day. Finally, he shrugged.

  “It’ll be a moot point anyway,” he said. “The D.A.’ll make a lot of noise about jail time, then when it gets close to trial, they’ll offer to dismiss everything in exchange for me agreeing in writing not to sue the department for excessive force.”

  “And you’ll agree.” Her voice was flat.

  He looked away. After the idealism she showed in her offer to testify, he hated what he was about to say. “It’s not like I’m giving up much. With your help, I may win the resisting, but they’re scared shitless of the publicity that they’d get from a civil suit. So they’ll make damn sure I go down on something. Even if they have to make something up.”

  “Pretty cynical,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, it is,” he said, “But I’ve seen it happen. If it happens to me, I lose my bondsman’s license. I weigh that against the possibility of winning a civil suit against the Fayetteville police. Even if I take it to a jury, who do you think they’ll believe?” He thought for a moment about the judge’s description of him as a violent man. “I’ve got better things to do with my time than take on lost causes. Even my own.” He closed the car door. He was walking towards the small guardhouse at the entrance to the impound lot when he heard her voice. “Mister Keller.”

  He turned. Her hand was out the window, holding a small piece of paper. He walked back and took it. It was a business card, the type cops gave to victims and witnesses who might need to contact them. The police switchboard number was scratched out and another number written in blue ink.

  “That’s my cell phone number,” she said. “In case you change your mind. Or, you know, if you want to, like, talk about anything else.”

  He smiled at her. “That’s not going to do a lot to help your career, either.”

  She didn’t smile back. “Yeah. Well.” She didn’t go on. She’d replaced the mirror shades, so it was impossible to read what was in her eyes.

  “Okay,” Keller said. “I’ll keep it in mind. And my name is Jack.”

  “I’m Marie,” she said. She looked like she was about to say something else, but she stopped. She put the car in gear and backed out of the gravel driveway. Keller put the card in his shirt pocket as he watched her go.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “What about the neighbors, what they gonna say, hey little sister got carried awayyyy,” DeWayne sang in a loud, slurred voice. He reached over to crank up the volume on the cassette deck.

  DeWayne’s buzz had been veering back and forth all day from catatonic stupor to manic lunacy. It was the fifth or sixth time that he had played the song, stopping it at the end to rewind and play it again so he could sing along and play air guitar on the solos. It had been getting on Leonard’s nerves since the second run through.

  “Damn it, DeWayne,” he said, “Shut up for a second and pay attention. ”DeWayne lurched back in the truck seat with his eyes closed, playing air guitar along with Stevie Ray. His back arched orgasmically as he launched into the chorus. Part of the beer in his left hand spilled on his shoulder as he mimed the solo. “Hey, hey...” he wailed. “Look at little sisterrr...”

  “DEWAYNE!” Leonard bellowed. He reached over and turned the stereo off.

  DeWayne’s eyes snapped open. “‘Eyyyy, man,” he whined. “The fuck’d you do that for?”

  “I got no idea where we are, man.” Leonard said. “You been to Crystal’s, I ain’t. You gotta tell me where to go.”

  DeWayne straightened up and look around blearily. He squinted as if to bring the road into better focus. “I’m gettin’ hungry,” he said.

  “One thing at a time, cuz,” Leonard said. “We gotta--”

  “Wait, turn here, man!” DeWayne yelled. “Turn right, turn right!”

  They were almost past the turn. The tires screeched as Leonard instinctively obeyed. The truck rocked up slightly on two wheels.

  “Whoo!” DeWayne shouted. He laughed and drained the last of his beer. “It’s down here at the end.”

  In the daylight, it was apparent that the neighborhood was struggling against becoming decrepit, and losing. Some of the houses were in good repair, others had sagging roofs and trim that was badly in need of fresh paint. There were small clumps of skinny, half-bare trees in some yards. In others, the owners who had apparently given up on even mowing the weeds that grew around the stumps where the trees had once been.

  A red Corvette was parked in the driveway in front of the house at the end of the street. It was the newest, brightest object visible. There were still a few flakes of the original white paint clinging to the picket fence in front of the house. The rest had weathered to gray.

  Leonard picked up the bag with the money in it and got out. DeWayne followed. The two men got out of the truck and walked towards the white house, with DeWayne leaning on Leonard’s shoulder for support. He was singing again: “Heyyyy, hey, look at little sisterrrr..." All of the shades were drawn. Had it not been for the car parked out front, the house would have appeared deserted.

  Leonard pushed the doorbell button beside the door. There was no sound of a bell inside and no answer. He knocked. He knocked harder. No answer. Leonard began knocking steadily, monotonously, like a man pounding nails in Hell. Finally, a slurred female voice responded, “All RIGHT,” God damn it, I’m coming.” There was a creak of footsteps. DeWayne stuck his face up to the peephole in the door and grinned maniacally. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” the voice said. It sounded very weary. There was a rattle of a chain, the solid snick of a heavy deadbolt, then the snap of the door lock. The door opened a crack.

  “The hell do you two want?” the girl said.

  “C’mon, sis, let us in,” Leonard whispered. There was a heavy sigh and the door swung wide. The two men stepped inside. DeWayne wrapped his arms around the girl and lifted her up off the ground in a bear hug. “Put me down, asshole,” she said, the words muffled against his shoulder. There was no anger in her voice, just a kind of weary amusement. DeWayne put her down and stepped back.

  She was a tiny woman, a little over five feet. It was the breasts that men noticed first, an unfortunate fact that had shaped most of her adult life. They seemed overly large for her thin body and thrust against even the shapeless cloth robe she wore, demanding attention. Her hair, cut short and parted in the middle, was dyed a dark reddish-brown. The hair was rumpled, as if she had just gotten out of bed. Her facial features were small and regul
ar, but just enough out of proportion to one another that she missed beautiful by a narrow margin and had to settle for cute. Her mouth was drawn in a perpetual affected pout that she thought was sexy, but served only to give the impression of a sulky child. The year since they had seen one another had not been kind to her. Leonard noticed her pallor, the bags under her eyes, the slight trembling as she took a cigarette out of the pack on the hall table and lit it.

  “We need a place to stay for a couple days, sis,” Leonard said. “Can we come in and talk about it?”

  “You are in,” she said, then sighed. “Okay, c’mon. I think there’s some beers in the fridge.” She turned and walked back into the house. DeWayne and Leonard followed. A short hallway led towards the living room. A door to the right about halfway down the hallway opened into the kitchen. Leonard dropped the bag on the floor across from the kitchen door.

  “Look like you’re sleepin’ late, Crys,” DeWayne said. “Livin’ a life o’ leisure, huh?”

  “Fuck you, DeWayne,” she said. She sat at the kitchen table, which was piled with newspapers. She gestured at the fridge. “Help yourselves.”

  There was no beer in the refrigerator, and no food other than a jar of mustard and a can of cat food with a plastic lid.Finally, DeWayne located a half-empty bottle of Popov Vodka in the freezer. He made a happy noise and sat down at the table across from Crystal. He took a drink straight from the bottle.

  She looked from one to the other with a mixture of resentment and resignation. “Well?” she said. “What’s all this about?”

  Leonard explained the situation to her. Her expression never changed. He finished by saying, “So we just need to lay up here for a couple days, till we can figger out where to go. Okay, sis?”

  She blew out a long streamer of smoke. “Yeah, okay,” she said finally. “But y’all gotta be careful. This is a quiet neighborhood. People work nights, sleep days. You start raisin’ hell,” she looked at DeWayne, “and you’re gonna have the cops all over this place.”

  DeWayne gave her a lopsided grin and took another pull from the bottle. “No problemo, sweet thing,” he said.