The Devil's Right Hand

by J. D. Rhoades

  “I don’t want to hurt him, Crystal,” Keller said. “But I’m not going to let him kill me.” The sentence hung in the air between them. Finally, Crystal nodded. “Okay,” she said. “That’s fair, I guess.” She put her head in her hands. “I can’t believe he would kill nobody,” she said. “He was always wild, but he weren’t never mean.” She sat in silence for a few minutes. “And Leonard,” she said finally. A tear ran down her cheek. “He was always so gentle. I really can’t believe Leonard hurt somebody.”

  Keller shrugged. “From what I hear, they tried to hold somebody up. Armed robbery’s a killing waiting to happen. They should’ve stuck with the small stuff.” He stood up. “You better get back inside,” he said. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  She nodded and stood up. “Thanks,” she said. “For getting me in here, I mean. I been all messed up for a long time. I need to get my mind right.”

  That makes two of us, Keller thought. “Good luck,” was what he said.

  She started back into the house. She stopped for a moment and looked back. “You think I got a chance?” she asked.

  Keller nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “You checked yourself in. Most people aren’t here by choice. They get sent here by the courts. So you’re ahead of the odds already.”

  She thought about that for a moment. Then she smiled. “First time that’s ever happened,” she said. She went back inside.

  “You know Crystal’s Social Security number?” Debbie asked. She was standing in the kitchen of her tiny apartment. She had the phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. DeWayne started to answer, but she held up a hand to stop him as someone came on the line. “Good afternoon,” she said, “this is Mrs. Gunderson from Consolidated insurance. Can you connect me with patient accounts?” In the brief pause, DeWayne shook his head no. Debbie nodded understanding.

  “Hello,” she said after a moment. “This is Mrs Gunderson from Consolidated Insurance. We’re trying to follow up on some paperwork for one of your patients. The name is Puryear. Crystal Puryear. Yes, I can hold.”

  “You sure they’ll tell you anything? Ain’t it supposed to be, you know, confidential?”

  She covered the mouthpiece with one hand. “Oh, yeah. Medical Records won’t tell you squat. You want to know what’s going on, talk to the billing people. I know, I used to work in a hospital. Confidential goes right out the window when they’re tryin’ to get paid. Watch. Yes, I’m still here,” she said into the phone. “We’re having some trouble processing this claim form. No, I don’t have her Social Security number, that’s part of the problem, I can’t read how it’s written here. Is that a five or a three...maybe you just better read the whole thing off for me.” She grabbed a pencil from the counter and jotted the number on a pad. “Thanks so much,” she said in a bubbly voice. “Now, what was the name of the place where she was moved--good, got it. No, I’m not sure when the claim will be paid, I have to send it upstairs. Have a nice day.” She hung up.

  “She’s at a place called Rescue House.” She picked up the phone directory and rifled through it. “Here’s an address.”

  DeWayne nodded. “Pretty slick.”

  She got that weird light in her eyes again. “Tell me how much you need me.”

  DeWayne tried not to shudder. “Oh, I need you, baby, you know that.”

  Marie had considered keeping Ben home with her. With no job to go to, she would have enjoyed the extra time. But he actually seemed to like the day-care where she had him, and he had fussed at the interruption in routine the first day she kept him out. She was also afraid that if Ben missed too many days in a row, she might lose the space. Good day-care was hard to come by. When she unlocked the front door and stepped into the silence of her house, however, she began to wonder if she had made a mistake. She shook her head. All the time I keep bitching to myself about never having some time alone, she thought. And now that I have it, I don’t know what to do with myself. She walked into the kitchen. She glanced over towards the kitchen cabinet where the liquor was stored. Briefly, she thought of pouring the sweet burning liquid in until it drowned all the places where she hurt inside. Something in her recoiled.

  No, she said, Jack was right. It doesn’t help. At the thought of Keller, she felt another sudden twist in her stomach. She had clung to him like a drowning woman, and he had pulled her out. Then she had reached out to him when he had seemed in pain--and he had slammed shut. She felt a brief flash of anger. Damn him anyway, she thought. It was then that she noticed the message light blinking on her answering machine, an insistently pulsing number “2". She walked over and pushed the message button.

  “It’s your dad,” a gruff voice said. “Call me.” That was all. The second was from a detective named Stacy. He had been a friend of Eddie’s, but she had always managed to make herself scarce when Stacy came around. He was big and mean-looking and the way he looked at her made her flesh crawl. The choice of who to call first was an easy one.

  “Yeah?” the voice on the other end said.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  The voice softened. “Hi, kiddo,” her father said. “How you holding up?”

  Not so great, Dad, she wanted to say. “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Bullshit,” the reply came back immediately. “We went through this yesterday, kid. We going through it every time I call? You lost your partner. You almost got killed. You seeing anybody?”

  For a brief panicked moment, she thought he meant romantically. She didn’t want to discuss Keller with her father. Then she realized what he meant. “Uh--no. I’ve been meaning to call the doctor the department recommended...”

  “Screw that,” her father said. “Get your own.”

  It sounded so much as if he was correcting an erring rookie that Marie laughed out loud. After a brief pause, he laughed too, a little ruefully. Then he said. “I mean it, kid. The worst thing that could happen to a cop just happened to you.”

  “I thought getting yourself killed was the worst thing that could happen,” she said.

  “Hah. You still feel that way?” he said.

  She thought a moment. “No.”

  “So get some help. And not from some pet shrink who’ll go running back to the Department with a bad evaluation.”

  “Okay.”

  “You heard from Internal Affairs yet?”

  “They took a statement from me at the hospital. And I’ve got a message from a Detective named Stacy.”

  “Fuck those assholes,” her father spat. The vehemence shocked her. “Listen, kid. We can’t do anything about the statement you gave at the hospital. But from now on you do not, repeat do not, talk to any IAD puke without a lawyer. I’m talking cop to cop here, not as your Dad.”

  “You sure there’s not just a little Dad in there?” Marie said.

  He laughed and his voice relaxed slightly. “Okay, a little bit Dad,” he said. “But I mean it.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll find my own shrink. And call a lawyer.”

  “Better yet,” he said gently. “Why don’t you and Ben come home? We’ll take him hunting, like we used to go. He’s old enough to go with us.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  “Do that,” he said, in a voice that said he knew she wouldn’t. “One last thing, kiddo. You got drunk yet?”

  “Umm...”

  “Don’t answer. Just listen. It’s okay if you have. Once. Maybe twice. Have a few for Eddie. But then stop. Don’t crawl into the bottle. I seen too many cops do that and never make it back out.”

  “That’s sort of what Jack--that’s what a friend of mine said.”

  “That’s a good friend, then,” her father said. He paused. “I love you, Marie.”

  It was hard to breathe past the lump in her throat. “I love you too, Dad.” They said their goodbyes and hung up.

  Marie looked at the flashing light on the message machine. She thought about her father’s words. Was Stacy working IAD? She
decided not to take the chance. She decided to get out of the house. Suddenly, she knew where she wanted to go.

  When Keller walked into the office, he could hear Angela’s voice from the back room. “Wait a minute,” she was saying, “that may be him now.” She appeared at the door with a portable phone in her hand. She looked drawn and haggard, as if she hadn’t slept. She held the phone out to him. “It’s Scott McCaskill,” she said.

  He walked over and took the phone. “Hello?”

  “Where’ve you been, son?” there was an edge of tension underlying the joviality in McCaskill’s voice. “There’s a lot of people who’d like to have a talk with you.”

  “I’m sure,” Keller said. “I had some personal business to take care of.”

  “The police have upped the stakes, Jack,” McCaskill said. “They don’t just want you for questioning now. There’s a warrant out for you. Murder Two on John Lee Oxendine.”

  Keller’s hand tightened on the receiver. “That’s bullshit.”

  “I know, son, but it’s bullshit we’re going to have to deal with. They matched the blood on your clothes with blood from the scene. You’re known to carry a shotgun, and that’s what killed Oxendine.”

  “It was self defense.”

  “I know that. But no one found a gun anywhere near Oxendine’s body. And there were no witnesses.”

  Keller remembered the touch of a gun barrel on the back of his neck, remembered a softly accented voice. “There was a Latino guy there. He took the gun.”

  “The Phantom Latino theory may convince a jury, especially if I sell it right. But right now, I don’t think the cops want to hear it. No one else knows anything about this guy.”

  “What about the brother? Raymond Oxendine?”

  There was a brief silence. “Raymond Oxendine and an accomplice shot their way out of Fayetteville General last night,” McCaskill said finally. “They killed a cop.” His voice became brisk and businesslike. “I need to arrange for you to come in to the station for booking,” he said. “It’ll look better than if they pick you up.”

  “When?”

  “Now would be good.”

  “Bail?”

  McCaskill paused. “I can’t promise it, Jack. Not for this. And you’re already bonded out on another charge.”

  “Not now, then,” Keller said. “I have some things I need to do first.”

  “What have you got to do that’s more important than this?”

  “It’s personal. Give me till noon tomorrow.”

  McCaskill sounded exasperated. “Jack, they won’t hold off that long.”

  “Noon tomorrow. And I give myself up to Barnes. Not Stacy.”

  “You’re not in a real good position to be negotiating, son. If you could give me some reason why you can’t come in today, I might be able to hold them off, but...”

  “Tell them I have a doctor’s appointment.” Keller hung up. He looked over at Angela. She was sitting behind the desk. She shook her head wearily. “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “Probably.” They looked at each other in silence for a few moments. Then she said softly, “When I called, earlier. You were with a woman. I heard her voice.”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Do you love her, Jack?”

  He wanted to turn away and stare out the window, but he forced himself to look into her eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. I think I could.”

  She was the one who looked away. Her eyes closed for a moment and she took a deep breath. “That’s good,” she said finally.

  He walked over and stood beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s this about?” he said. “I thought you said...”

  She took his hand in hers, kissed the back of it. “I know I did,” she said. “And I meant it. I still do. It would never work with us, Jack. It’s just that--this is hard, is all.” She looked up at him and smiled. She pressed the back of his hand against her cheek before releasing it. “Does she make you happy?”

  This time, Keller did look away. “I’m not sure I’m capable of it,” he said.

  She stood up, put her arm around him. “I hope you’re wrong,” she said. “You deserve to be happy.”

  He shook his head. “I think I may have screwed it up.”

  She released him and sat on the edge of the desk. “What happened?”

  He took a deep breath. He told her about the night before, about the dream and how he had left. At one point, Angela stopped him. “Wait a minute,” she said. “This is the Jones woman we’re talking about? The cop?”

  “Yeah,” Keller said. “Marie Jones.”

  “Keller, are you crazy?” Angela said. “You’re wanted for murder and you’re dating a cop?”

  “She’s suspended from the force. She’s got no reason to help them out.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Besides, she has to know I wouldn’t kill anyone in cold blood.”

  “Trying to strangle her in her sleep would really set her mind at ease on that point.”

  Keller thought about that for a moment. Then he picked up the phone. “I need to talk to her.”

  Angela slid off the desk and put her arms around him. “For God’s sake, be careful, Jack,” she whispered against his chest. She turned him loose and stepped away. “There’s so many ways this could go wrong for you.”

  “I know,” Keller said. “But I’ve been going through my life so far taking stupid risks. This time, I’m taking a risk on something important.”

  She nodded. She reached up and took his cheeks in her hands. She pulled his face down and kissed him on the forehead. “Make the call, Jack,” she whispered. She turned and left the room.

  Keller dialed the phone. After four rings, the phone clicked. There was a crackle of static and a whirring sound on the line.

  “Hi,” Marie’s recorded voice said. “Ben and I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message.”

  “Marie?” Keller said. “It’s Jack Keller. If you’re there, pick up.” Silence. “Okay,” he said. “I need to talk to you. About everything. Call me at the office or on my cell.” He gave both numbers and hung up. He stared at the wall for a moment before standing up and walking back out to the front desk. Angela was seated behind it. She looked up. “She wasn’t home,” he said. “I left a message.”

  “You could drive to her house,” Angela suggested. “You can keep using my car. I’ve got the truck.”

  He shook his head. “It’s an hour and a half from here to Fayetteville,” he said. “And it’s getting late. I’ll try to call again tonight. I’ve got an appointment with Major Berry tomorrow morning. I’ll see her after.”

  Angela’s face brightened. “You’re seeing Lucas again?” she said. “I thought he was doing drug rehab now.”

  “He is. But he said he’d pick up where we left off.”

  “He’s a good man. Looks like your luck may be changing, Keller.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The 9MM Glock spoke rapidly, twice in succession. The slide came back as Marie expended the last two shots into the man-shaped target at the far end of the indoor range. She ejected the spent magazine and set the gun on the waist-high shelf in front of her, pressing the button to bring the target to her on its steel cable. She grimaced as she looked at the target. There was a group of holes in the center of the target’s silhouetted torso, where the center of mass would be. There was another, smaller group in the center of the target’s “head.”

  Better, she thought, but not great. At least I didn’t miss any this time. I really need to practice more.

  She had shot through two boxes of ammo before the gun felt natural in her hand again, and her shot grouping had been awful. But as she relaxed, the old rhythm and flow returned. Draw, tap-tap. Draw, tap-tap. As always, the focus on the simple tasks involved in hitting the target cleared her head. There was something clean, uncomplicated about it. Only two ways for it to come out, she thought. Hit or miss, and it’s in your hands. She lo
oked at the watch lying on the shelf in front of her. Whoa, she thought. Got to go pick up Ben. Lost track of time for a bit. She took a deep breath of the cordite-laced air, the gunpowder stench creating a mild but pleasantly familiar burn in her nostrils, and smiled.

  She packed the gun away in its case and hung the ear protectors on the wall. She walked up a set of creaky wooden stairs and opened the heavy door at the top. She stepped into the bright fluorescent lights of the gun shop. Shiny glass display cases showed off a variety of handguns laid out on dark-green felt, while a forest of barrels sprouted from the brown and black stocks of rifles and shotguns racked side by side behind the counter. A large man half-sat, half leaned on a stool behind the counter, his arms crossed across a considerable paunch. His arms were a riot of dark ink, winding and swirling up his massive forearms and biceps and under the sleeves of his dark green T-shirt. His wind-burned face scowled at the world over a bristling hedge of black beard that reached almost to the crossed arms.

  Marie waved at him. “Thanks, Stoney,” she said.

  Stoney nodded almost imperceptibly. He didn’t look at her and the scowl didn’t change. “Some dude called looking for you,” he said. “Said his name was Stacy. Sounded like a cop.”

  Marie felt a chill in her belly. “Oh,” she said lightly. “He’s a friend of mine.”

  “Uh-huh,” Stoney said. ”He didn’t sound too friendly. In fact, he sounded like an asshole.” He looked at her for the first time. “I told him you weren’t here.”

  She sighed. “Thanks, Stoney,” she said. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said again. “That why you’re working out here instead of the police range?”

  She tried to smile at him. “I like it here,” she said. “Not as crowded.”

  He grunted and went back to scowling at the front door. Marie walked out to her car. She took the cell phone from beneath the seat. She dialed her home number and punched in the code for her messages when the answering machine picked up. There was another message from Stacy. She fumbled in the glove box for a stub of pencil and wrote the number down on the back of a store receipt she found on the floorboard. She looked at it for a moment, then took a deep breath. She dialed.