Bubba and the Curious Cadaver

by C. L. Bevill

  “Okay, weird call about your name. Then what?”

  “I did paperwork for a bit. I went into the kitchen and got my dinner. I’m trying to eat better. Starting to get a little gut, so I had me a Caesar salad that my boy Leslie made for me. That fella can cook! The secret is the dressing and the croutons. He makes them croutons from scratch and…okay, I’ll get back on track. Just about the time I was finished, there was a fierce knocking on the service door. I could hear it all the way back in my office, and believe you me, the place is soundproofed on account of all the loud music that gets played for the girls.”

  Bubba looked around. “This is soundproofed? It don’t make sense that you could hear the knocking then do it?”

  Bam Bam glowered again. “Who’s telling this story? And no, it doesn’t make sense.” He tapped the desk with his fingers. “I went to the service entrance and looked out and no one was there. It was starting to get dark by then, and I had me a pinochle game to go to.”

  “So you went back to your office, and was that when you started listening to Elvis?”

  “No, I sat down and bam, there he was, wearing his suit, looking like me, staring at me probably in the same way I was staring at him.” Bam Bam pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling. “I would have asked him more questions if I had known I would only talk to him the one time.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Said it wasn’t safe, and he had things to say to me.” Bam Bam said the words reflectively. “He was like a mirror image wearing a nice suit, although I didn’t think much about the tie. Ugly tie, yo.”

  “Then he just left?”

  “Said he’d be in touch with me,” Bam Bam said. “I was as confused as a baby in a topless bar.” He sighed again. “By the time I thought to go after him, he was gone. Wasn’t no one in the parking lot except my car, and one of the girls’ cars, which was the broken one I tole you about. Wasn’t even the sound of crickets going. Could have been the end of the world at that very moment. That was one scary, sneaky fella.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I had me my first shot of scotch,” Bam Bam gestured at the locked drawer. “I put in my earbuds and put the King on because the King always clarifies things for me. Then about an hour later, I managed to finish my paperwork. It was hard because I couldn’t concentrate. I reckon you understand why and all.”

  “I kin get that,” Bubba said.

  “Oh yes, I tried to call my ma,” Bam Bam added. “I thought she might have had someone call her, too. Most folks would be looking for me in Dallas, not here, on account that I kept my apartment there.”

  All of that created more questions in Bubba’s head than when he had started. “So you stopped working at some point and…?” He gestured with his hands to get Bam Bam to continue.

  “I finished the paperwork. Do you know how long it takes to file Forms 1567A and 822C? That girl with the python needs a special permit to work with an exotic animal on the premises, and that ain’t no cakewalk in the park with pies and clowns.”

  Bubba gestured with his hands again because he didn’t think he could trust himself to sound reasonable any longer.

  “I tried my mama again and then I went to the bathroom, whereupon I found you-know-who.”

  “Who was dead last night,” Bubba stated.

  “Yep.”

  “And you just left him there?”

  “Well, yeah,” Bam Bam said, staring at Bubba as if the other man was clearly insane for thinking that Bam Bam should have done otherwise. Whatever else does one do with dead bodies but leave them there for Bubba to come find at a later point in time?

  Bubba thought about what he’d heard from Bam Bam’s employees. “And you told Leslie that the bathroom was broken and sent Cayenne Pepper in your car to wait for me, et cetera.”

  Bam Bam nodded. “That’s about it. You goin’ to he’p a brotha out, yo?” His accent had devolved into gangsta Texan again. Bubba assumed that the other man was so rattled he couldn’t remember to stay in character.

  Bubba knew that he shouldn’t. In fact, he was certain that he should just pull out his cellphone and call Sheriff John toot-sweet, but the big puppy dog look on Bam Bam’s face made him waver. He cursed under his breath and thought about possibilities.

  “Are you plumb shore you don’t want to call the po-lice?” Bubba asked. “I kin say I found him.”

  “And they’ll know he was killed the night before. Hell, you knew he’d been killed the night before, and you’re a car mechanic.”

  “Look, Bam Bam, I bin known to skirt the law on occasion, for good reason—” Bubba started and Bam Bam interrupted with— “I’ll tell Willodean you were here watching the lemon show.”

  Bubba knew that his lips flattened and that if he had been looking into a mirror someone would have said that his face turned to stone. “Oh, you don’t wanna do that, Bam Bam,” he warned.

  Bam Bam correctly read Bubba’s expression. “I wouldn’t have done it, Bubba,” he protested with a grimace. “It’s just that I’m desperate. The po-lice don’t listen to folks like us. They haul us off to jail and then ask did they make a mistake after you been convicted and in prison for ten years.”

  Bubba knew about that, too. He’d experienced it on several separate occasions. The fact that he was married to a sheriff’s deputy wouldn’t matter a jot if the circumstances appeared to be damning. Bam Bam wasn’t exactly Joe P. Lawful, but Bubba didn’t think he was a murderer, either.

  “48 hours,” Bubba said.

  “But,” Bam Bam said and then he closed his mouth. “Okay,” he capitulated.

  “Let’s go look at that fella,” Bubba said, “on account of there ain’t anything else to do.”

  Precious lifted her head off Bubba’s boot and whined as if she understood exactly what he had said.

  Chapter 6

  Bubba and a Bunch of

  Questions and More Questions

  Tuesday, August 22nd

  If the truth were to be told, Bubba would have said that it would have been well within the range of normal to expect the dead body to have A) disappeared, B) turned into a zombie, or C) to not really be dead at all. When Bam Bam unlocked the bathroom door, Bubba braced himself for the worst, although a disappearing body would have been personally helpful to him, and did he need to go into the fact that if the dead body wasn’t really dead, then all was biscuits and butter? Well, no he didn’t really need to go into that, but it surely would have been blessed providence at work.

  Regardless of all the possibilities based on past-case scenarios, the body was still present on the bathroom floor, was definitely not zombified, and was still very much lifeless.

  Dang, ain’t that a shame?

  Bubba immediately chastised himself. There was never a case where murder should be something that be made fun of, and his attitude was not becoming in any case. Fella is dead. Someone done kilt him. I ought to be respectful. That’s what comes of too many dead bodies turning up in Pegram County. I’ve gotten used to a thing that no one should get used to seeing. He said a prayer to God and closed his eyes for just a moment. Folks might not like the path, but the outcome was the important part.

  “Now what?” Bam Bam asked. He shut the bathroom door behind them and looked down at the dead man.

  “Got to figure out who he is,” Bubba said. “Then we figure out who would have wanted to kill him. Cain’t do one without the other.”

  “That makes sense,” Bam Bam said. “I need another scotch. I’m so upset I can’t think straight. I can’t even come up with any good lines. I thought buying a strip, er, an exotic dance club would be fun and easy. Pretty women. Lots of people who like seeing the pretty women. Alcohol in abundance. Where’s the harm in all that? Where’s the illegality?” He shook his head. “I’m going to have to start drinking my scotch with Pepto-Bismol.” He obviously shuddered at the thought. “No one should do that to fine scotch.”

  Bubba knelt next to the body and patted the
jacket for the telltale bulge of a wallet. No wallet made itself known, but there was a gun holster, and it was the kind that Bubba had seen before. He pulled the jacket to one side and indicated the holster with a nod. “That look familiar to you, Bam Bam?”

  “That’s a gun holster,” Bam Bam said. “That’s the kind that policemen wear, specifically the kind that are detectives. The over the shoulder vertical ones they wear under the jackets.”

  “Plain old people kin buy those, too,” Bubba said.

  “In Texas?” Bam Bam settled his shoulders. “Folks around here just carry the shotgun in the carrier in their truck. I expect a few folks have the concealed weapon licenses, too.”

  “My point is that this looks official,” Bubba said, “which brings to mind a more important question: where is his gun?”

  Bam Bam lifted his hands in the air in an obvious attempt to demonstrate that he didn’t have it. “I don’t have it,” he said. A look of comprehension crossed his face. “Do you think that was the weapon that was used in the crime?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but I would think if he had killed himself the gun would still be in the bathroom.” Bubba looked around. “Did you look in all the stalls? Could have slid under the doors when he fell.”

  Bam Bam looked in all of the stalls. “Nothing, nada, nilcharino.”

  “That’s not good,” Bubba said. “Stop touching everything, Bam Bam. When the cops come they’ll look at everything for prints.”

  “My prints are all over, anyway. I use this bathroom all the time,” Bam Bam said. “Well, I use it anyway. Oh hell, you know what I mean.”

  Bubba checked the man’s back pockets, since the body was lying on its side, and found a wallet. “Here we go,” he announced. He pulled it out carefully, trying to touch it along the edges. “Mebe we should get some gloves from the kitchen.”

  “Leslie would notice if I went and grabbed some latex gloves,” Bam Bam said. “Try to use the tips of your fingers.”

  It took a moment but Bubba flipped the plain black leather wallet open. There was a clear plastic compartment with a District of Columbia driver’s license. “His name is John J. Johnson the Third. He lives on K Street in a condo because he’s got an HOA card. He’s got a gym membership and one Visa card, too.”

  Bam Bam peered over Bubba’s shoulder. “Is that it?”

  “He’s got sixty-seven dollars. Three twenties, a five, and two dollar bills.”

  Bam Bam clicked his tongue. “Seems like he cleaned out his wallet. No photographs or such, huh?”

  “Most people have those on their phones now.”

  “Does he have a phone?”

  Bubba patted down the body again. “No phone. Unless the someone who took the gun took his phone, too.”

  “But why wouldn’t they take his wallet, then?”

  “I don’t know.” Bubba stared at the wallet. It was slim and plain. It didn’t present like anything special, but the billfold had a hint of luxury like the suit did. And wasn’t it expensive to live in the District of Columbia? Wouldn’t most people have to be making a pretty good living to live in a condo there? “If someone wanted this fella dead, then why do it here?”

  “Bubba, if I had the answers to questions like that, I would not have sent Cayenne out to wait by the road for you to pass by,” Bam Bam said in what seemed like a very patient manner. Bubba glanced up and saw that Bam Bam was twitching again and not in a good way.

  “Do you think that someone followed him…John Johnson…here?” Bubba asked.

  “Of course, but here’s the clincher,” Bam Bam said slowly, “no one’s got keys to the place but employees.”

  Bubba thought about it. “The girls said there was a big meeting. Was that part of your plan?”

  Bam Bam grimaced. “Yes and no.”

  That meant there was more going on than Bam Bam wanted to admit. That was too dang bad. If Bam Bam felt like he needed to drag Bubba into the matter, then Bam Bam could just cough up all the information and cough it up posthaste.

  “Don’t John J. Johnson the Third sound like a fake name?” Bubba asked. “Like Ralph R. Ralpherson Jr? Or something like that?”

  “I’ve got employees named Crystal Chandelier and Jade Sparkles, so John J. Johnson doesn’t sound all that fake. Oh yes, and there’s Smoky Nipples. Her nipples actually do smoke. She has these little tubes in her bustier that—”

  “He said it wasn’t safe and that he needed to talk to you,” Bubba interrupted before Bam Bam could go on about smoking nipples or any other kind of nipples.

  “That was the gist of it.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be safe?” Bubba asked. “What’s not safe about here?”

  “Well, there’s an electrical issue in the dressing room,” Bam Bam said. “We had to disconnect one of the plugs and that meant that Lucy Lips and Granny Goodbang couldn’t use their blow dryers and curling irons. I didn’t want them to get electrocuted until I could get an electrician in here.”

  “No, not that. What else?”

  “Ain’t nothing going on,” Bam Bam protested. “The worst thing is the cat fights about someone borrowing someone’s nail polish or nipple tassels.”

  Bubba tucked everything back into the wallet and put it back where he found it. He stood up. He crossed his arms over his chest, considering the dead man. “Fella looks just like you, Bam Bam. I expect he’s your brother, if not maybe your twin brother. Looks to be about the same height, similar weight, build, and them shoes are size 10s.”

  “I’m a size 10,” Bam Bam murmured.

  “Ifin we’re reasonable about this,” Bubba said and Bam Bam said, “Yep, let’s be reasonable.”

  “Ifin we’re reasonable,” Bubba repeated, “then this fella was kilt because something ain’t right around here. I heard tell that Bazooka Bob had problems with the IRS and with the DEA upon occasion.”

  “Bob was somewhat anxious for money,” Bam Bam allowed. “He also mentioned something about enjoying the weather in South America.”

  “Which means we cain’t ask Bob any questions on account that he’s prolly living in a country with no extradition policy with the USA.”

  Bam Bam shrugged. “Negotiation for the gentlemen’s club was certainly fluid.” Bubba took that to mean that Bob had been eager to sell and get the heck out of Dodge.

  “So has the IRS been about to ask you questions, Bam Bam?”

  “Haven’t seen a single agent.” Bam Bam scratched the side of his head as if he was considering what he had and hadn’t seen.

  “And the DEA?”

  “No, except we do get some suits in here at times,” Bam Bam said carefully. “They don’t seem that interested in the girls, but they do bring in a roll of one dollar bills. I don’t believe I’ve seen any DEA agents since your wedding.” He chuckled. “Trust Miz Demetrice to invite them to the big event.”

  “The sheriff’s department bin by to speak to you?”

  “Friday and Saturday nights get a little busy,” Bam Bam said. “Sometimes there are problems. Generally folks don’t want to go home, or they want to get touchy with the girls. We have dancers here, not prostitutes, and some fellas don’t understand the difference. So yes, the Pegram County Sheriff’s Department do come in. They were in here last Friday and arrested that fellow who runs the five and dime. He kept jerking the dollar bills back, and the last time he did it he took Jade’s G-string with the bill. He seemed rightly embarrassed, but Jade was so angry she beaned him with her stiletto boot. I think the guy was lucky she didn’t stab him with the heel. Then someone else started throwing the pretzels and chips from the bar, whereupon things started to deteriorate rapidly.” He smiled. “That was Willodean, by the way, who came to get that fella, what was his name, and when folks see her coming they just put their hands up. Even Jade didn’t put up a fuss once your wife came through the front door. I swept up for hours.”

  “Do you owe anybody any money, Bam Bam? From up to Dallas or elsewhere?”

 
“No, paid all my debts with that movie money and had some to spare, which is why I bought this here fine establishment.” Bam Bam crossed his arms over his chest. “I can see where you’re going, and you’ve got to understand that if a fella like me borrows money from someone who is in the money-lending business, and not in a bankly way, then it’s in the moneylender’s best interest not to kill the goose who laid the golden egg.”

  “You mean they cain’t get blood out of a dead stone,” Bubba interpreted.

  “If a fella is dead, then they can’t get any money back, and it’s doubtful that fella will have an estate that can be sued.”

  “So you dint borrow money,” Bubba repeated.

  “No.”

  “Do anything that would piss anyone off?”

  Bam Bam started to say something that Bubba took to mean automatic dismissal. He paused for a moment. “Of course, there’s always something, but nothing springs to mind. Ain’t no one threatened me with death since this one cracker named Trailer Park Willy said he would stuff my head up my…well, you know. He was mostly hot air, and then they nicked him with a meth lab setup in the back of his Cadillac. He had it in the trunk and would drive around while it was cooking. I guess he thought the smoke from the meth blended in with the smoke from the Caddy’s exhaust pipe. Anyway, he’s in Huntsville doing a nickel tour.”

  “Anyone goin’ to inherit all your worldly wealth ifin you were to pass?”

  Bam Bam waved about them, indicating the immediate area of the club. “This is it. I spent the rest of the movie money on this club. I should get some more cash out of the movie when it starts selling in China, but the director’s wife, you remember her, Marquita Thaddeus? She got into a Twitter war with some folks about whether they really appreciated the whole zombie genre in China or not, and China decided that The Deadly Dead wasn’t so welcome there.” He stopped when it became obvious that Bubba was about to reach over and shake him. “My mama will get a 1974 AMC Gremlin, a collection of baseball and football jerseys and coats, another collection of boots, and the ownership of one private club named Bazooka Bob’s, which was not the investment that I took it to be when I purchased it from that jerk Bob Shufflebottom.”