Murder Takes a Break

by Bill Crider

  Dino set the tackle down and said, "Where's Henry J.?"

  "What?" Big Al said. "No 'Hi, Big Al,' no greeting for an old friend?"

  Dino put the tackle and bait bucket down. "Hi, Big Al."

  "Hi, yourself. You boys think you're going to catch some fish today?"

  "We might," I said. "Let's bait up, Dino."

  I could tell by the look on his face that Dino found the idea of putting live shrimp on a hook about as appealing as cleaning out a cat's litter box with his bare hands, so I knelt down by the bait bucket and got busy.

  "Dino's too delicate for that kind of work," Big Al said. She patted the arm of the empty chair. "Here you go, Dino, have a seat by me and tell me what's been happening your life. How long's it been since we talked, anyway? Five years? Ten?"

  Dino looked at the empty chair, but he didn't make a move to sit in it.

  "We haven't talked in a long time. I haven't counted the years. Where's Henry J.?"

  "He went to the snack bar to get me a Co' Cola and some chips. You boys bring anything to drink with you?"

  "No," I said. "We didn't think about it."

  I'd gotten one rig ready. I stood up and backed away from the water to make my cast. The line spun smoothly off the reel, and the bait landed noiselessly in the choppy water. The wind over the bay was so freighted with humidity that my own hair was going to be as curly as Big Al's if we stayed on Pelican Island for very long.

  "Here," I said, handing the rod to Dino, who took it reluctantly, holding it out and away from his body as if it might infect him with the Ebola virus if it got too close.

  "You do a lot of fishing, Dino," Big Al said. "I can tell.

  Dino didn't answer. He just looked out at the line as if he were expecting a great white shark to take his hook and yank him into the bay.

  Big Al watched Dino for a minute and then looked back over her shoulder.

  "Here comes Henry J. now," she said. "If I'd known you boys were coming, I'd have had him get you a Co' Cola, too."

  "Tru likes Big Red," Dino said.

  Big Al shook her head at my bad taste as Henry J. arrived beside her chair. He was about six-four, with the build of a retired linebacker who'd kept in shape. He was wearing a long-billed fishing cap, but I knew that underneath it he was completely bald, with a bumpy skull that a nineteenth century phrenologist would have considered a prize trophy. He was wearing a T-shirt that was even tighter than Big Al's, and his had a different picture — a black revolver — and a different slogan — "Fight Crime. Shoot Back." His nose had been broken a lot. The bridge was jagged as lightning. I was pretty sure he hadn't run into any doors.

  He handed a paper cup and a bag of chips to Big Al and said, "What're these assholes doing here?"

  I made a cast with my second rod, looked to the left and to the right, and said, "What assholes?"

  "You never were very funny, Smith," he said. "No matter what you think. Ain't that what you say, Dino?"

  There was a story that one of the breaks in Henry J.'s nose was a result of some old disagreement between him and Dino that had ended in a brief flurry of fisticuffs. It had happened when I was off the Island, though, and I didn't know the story. I'd never asked. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

  "I'm glad to see you, too, Henry J.," Dino said, still staring at his fishing line. "How's your nose?"

  "You son-of-a-bitch," Henry J. said. He thrust his cup at Big Al. "Hold this for me."

  She didn't take the cup. "Calm down, Henry J. You don't want to go getting in a fight over some old grudge that you can't even remember. Not right here in public, anyway."

  Henry J. didn't say a word. He just clamped his mouth on the straw in his cup and inhaled about half his drink.

  After that, no one seemed inclined toward conversation. We all stared out at our lines, while the rest of the fishing contingent pretended to ignore us. Some of them were probably watching, though. When Big Al was around, lots of people were bound to be curious.

  After maybe five minutes had gone by without a bite, I said, "I hear that you rent out beach houses for parties, Alice."

  "You planning a party, Smith?" Henry J. asked.

  I kept my eyes forward. "Maybe. If I can find a nice place to rent."

  "I own a few beach houses," Big Al admitted. "People like to give me things."

  In addition to her other enterprises, Big Al was reputed to lend money at interest rates that your local bank's chief loan officer would be arrested for just thinking about. Sometimes people couldn't pay back the loans, in which case Big Al was glad to take something valuable instead of the money, whether the owners wanted to give it up or not. After a visit from Henry J., they generally thought that giving up something valuable, like a beach house, for example, was a lot better than having their anatomy unpleasantly rearranged.

  "Property isn't always an asset," I said. "Sometimes it can be a problem."

  "How's that?" Big Al said.

  "Renters, for one thing," I said. "Sometimes they tear things up, steal your fixtures, break things. It can be a real hassle. Or so I hear."

  "Maybe you'd do something like that to the place where you're living, but not my renters. I don't allow that kind of thing."

  "Those parties during spring break can get rowdy, though. Bad things can happen. Sometimes people get high and do things they'd never even think about under ordinary circumstances. Especially kids. They don't understand responsibility."

  Big Al looked up at Henry J., who was still standing by her right shoulder. He bent down and set his cup by her chair.

  "Not at my houses," Big Al said. "You know, the truth is, I don't like to be crowded when I fish. It's been nice to see you boys after all this time, and I've enjoyed talking to you. But I think you'd better move to a better spot now. The fish aren't biting here, anyway."

  "If you need any help moving," Henry J. said, cracking his knuckles, "I'll give it to you."

  I started reeling in my line, and Dino followed suit.

  "We'll be going in a minute," I said. "It is a little crowded here, and as soon as Alice answers a couple of questions for me, Dino and I'll pack it in. I just want to know about a party at one of her beach houses."

  "No questions," Henry J. said, lifting his hand and stepping closer to Dino, who spun around and slammed the butt of the heavy saltwater rod into Henry J.'s stomach as hard as he could.

  He could have rammed the end of a matchstick into a brick wall for all the effect he had on Henry J., who didn't even move, didn't even take a deep breath. He just reached out, closed a big hand around the rod, and jerked it out of Dino's grip. Then he threw it in the bay.

  "Hey," I said. "That wasn't Dino's rod. It was mine."

  Henry J. looked about as concerned at my statement as he would have if I'd just told him that grass was green or water was wet. Dino's face was red, and I thought for just the fraction of a second I was going to see whether he could break Henry J.'s nose a second time.

  But it didn't work out that way. Henry J. just took a step forward and shoved Dino into the bay. Then he started for me.

  It looked like I was going to get beaten to a pulp by myself after all.

  12

  I bent over, grabbed the bait bucket and stuck it out toward Henry J.

  "Here," I said. "Hold this."

  He moved his hand to knock it aside, but I was too quick for him. I jerked the bucket back and threw salt water and shrimp in his face.

  That stopped him. He glared at me as he ran his hands over his face and then down his chest to swipe the water off his T-shirt. There was a shrimp on his shoulder, and he flicked it off into the bay with his finger. It was the lucky one. He crunched half the others under his size twelve brogans as he came after me.

  I decided that he was going to have to catch me before he killed me, and besides, I had a plan. Sort of. So I ducked under his reaching arms and scooted by Big Al's chair.

  "You really should calm him down," I said in passing. "Think Prozac."r />
  She stuck out a rock-hard hand to stop me, but I side-stepped on past her, walking fast but not running. I was too proud to run.

  Henry J. was right behind me, hot-footing almost as fast as I was. People were staring at us openly now, but no one made a move to help me as I skedaddled down the walk. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Big Al getting ponderously out of her chair. Maybe all those overly-developed muscles made rapid movement difficult.

  I didn't see Dino anywhere, but I knew he would be all right. In fact, he was probably a lot better off than I was. We'd learned to swim almost as soon as we could walk, before we got too suave and sophisticated to spend any time in the surf, so he wouldn't drown. And no one was chasing him.

  So he didn't have a problem, not unless Big Al conked him with a concrete block or something equally heavy. I didn't remember seeing anything like that lying around, and there were too many witnesses for Big Al to try something like that anyway. Being a criminal was one thing. Getting caught at it was something else again, and Big Al was too smart for that.

  I was rapidly approaching the snack bar, which was actually a building with several levels, only one of which, the lower, was devoted to snacking.

  I didn't think I had time for a snack, so I went up the wide stair case to the second level, skirting around the side of the building on a balcony that had a great view of the bay if you were interested in that sort of thing, which I wasn't at the moment. I caught a glimpse of the Bolivar Peninsula and the metal lighthouse as I continued on my way.

  Several people turned to see why I was in such a hurry. Their curiosity was satisfied when they saw Henry J. I could see it in their eyes. If he'd been hot on their trail, they'd have tried to keep well ahead of him, too. They turned back to their view of the ferry boats and the Gulf, feeling no need to get involved.

  I didn't blame them a bit. I didn't particularly want to be involved, either, though I was about to get even more intimately in touch with Henry J. if things went as planned.

  I'd been slowing down for the last few steps, letting Henry J. gain on me, and when I came to what I judged to be exactly the right spot, I stopped suddenly, turned, ducked, and threw my shoulder into Henry J.'s rock-like stomach just as he reached for me.

  I didn't bend him much more than I could have bent an oak plank, but he was surprised and when he grabbed for me I wasn't where he thought I'd be, so I managed to bend him just enough to allow me to straighten up and heave him over the balcony rail. He was no heavier than the small car that he might or might not have been named for.

  He didn't have far to fall, only a few feet, before he thumped into the first-floor roof that sloped sharply down into some oleander bushes. There was one lonely white bloom still clinging to the branches among all the green leaves.

  Henry J. flipped over on his stomach and tried to stop his slide down the roof, but there was nothing much to hold onto. His fingernails made a really irritating sound as he tried to get a grip, but he probably didn't notice it. He had other things on his mind.

  It would have been fun to stay around for a while and watch him thrashing around in the oleanders, but I thought I'd better go see about Dino. He didn't like being neglected for long periods of time.

  I passed Big Al on my way back. She was moving at a leisurely pace, serene in the knowledge that Henry J. could put me down using nothing more than his right little finger. Or maybe the little finger and the thumb. She looked quite surprised to see that I was still able to walk, and when there was no sign of Henry J. at my back, she looked even more surprised. She even started moving a little faster. We passed, but she wasn't inclined to stop and chat. For that matter, neither was I.

  When I got back to the spot where I'd left Dino, he was standing by Big Al's chair, drying his hair with a ragged towel someone had given him. The towel must have been used to wrap fish in. I could smell it from ten feet away.

  Dino finished with the towel and handed it to an old man standing nearby. The man took it and grinned. He'd neglected to put his teeth in that morning, and he hadn't shaved in several days, but neither of those things seemed to bother him.

  "Thanks for the towel," Dino said. "I appreciate it."

  "Don't mention it," the man said. "I enjoyed seeing you hit that Henry J., even if you didn't knock him down. You're Dino, ain't you?"

  "That's right."

  Dino ran his fingers through his hair, trying to comb it down. For some reason I don't understand his hair is still nearly jet black, whereas I've had some gray in mine for years. Maybe I'm under more stress than he is.

  "I remember your uncles," the old man told Dino. "They were real pistols. Brought movie stars to The Island all the time to be in those clubs of theirs. You remember those days?"

  "Just barely," Dino said.

  "It was somethin', lemme tell you. But it was a long time ago. What's the problem with you and Henry J.?"

  "I don't have a problem with anybody," Dino said. He pointed to me. "He does."

  "Who are you?" the old man asked me.

  "Nobody," I told him. To Dino I said, "Are you ready to go?"

  "I don't know. I'm sort of getting the hang of this fishing stuff. And the wind isn't quite freezing me. Why don't we stick around for a while, see if Big Al and Henry J. want to go eat at Gaido's later."

  "Sarcasm doesn't become you," I said. "You've got the words, but you don't quite have the tune."

  "I got your rod, though," he said, nudging it with his foot. "I figured that as long as I was down there, I might as well look for it."

  "Great. Why don't we gather up my stuff and get out of here."

  He didn't argue. He grabbed the rods, and I got the tackle box and the now-empty bait bucket.

  "What happened to Henry J.?" he asked when we started back to my truck.

  "He fell off the snack bar balcony," I said.

  "I'll bet he's not too happy about that."

  "I didn't ask him. And if you'll hurry up, he won't have a chance to tell me."

  We tossed the tackle in the truck bed and left the park. On the way back to Galveston we passed several people who had parked their cars by the road and were fishing from the shore.

  "Cheapskates," Dino said. "They don't want to pay the admission fee."

  "Maybe they like the fishing better here."

  "Maybe. I guess you noticed that Big Al didn't much want to talk about any parties at her beach houses."

  "I noticed," I said.

  "What do you think that means?"

  "I think it means that she knows something about what happened. I also think she's not going to tell me about it. Not yet anyway."

  "Well," Dino said, "you learned that much at least. The trip wasn't completely wasted."

  He was right. Big Al's behavior had given me plenty to think about. And that wasn't the only thing. But I wasn't ready to talk about the rest of it with Dino yet, because I wasn't exactly clear about it myself.

  "I hope you're satisfied," he said.

  "Why?"

  "You dragged me out of my house, got me pushed in the bay, and humiliated me in front of a whole bunch of people, including an old guy with no teeth."

  "I'm usually the one who gets wet when I'm working on a case," I said, thinking of a couple of recent instances, one of which had involved an alligator. That one hadn't been Dino's fault, however. I had to admit that much.

  "You know what Sally Western said?" he asked.

  "She said quite a few things. Which one in particular?"

  "The one about me needing to get out more," he said.

  "Oh, that. Yeah, I remember."

  "Well I have something for you to tell her for me the next time you see her."

  "I'll tell her if I remember. What is it?"

  Dino ran his fingers through his still damp hair and looked out the window at the tallow trees. Their leaves had all turned a deep orangey red, but most of them were still hanging on.

  "Tell Sally that she was wrong," he said.

 
; 13

  It was nearing sunset when we got back to Dino's. Half the western sky was the color of the tallow leaves.

  Dino asked me if I wanted to come in for something to eat, but I was sure he was even less likely than I was to have anything edible in the house, so I turned him down. I would have suggested a restaurant, but he'd already had enough of being out of his house for one day. Besides, his clothes were still wet.

  I drove home and parked in front. Nameless came running up to meet me at the door and charged inside ahead of me. I fed him and sat in my recliner to look over my scanty notes and think things over.

  The thinking didn't go so well at first, so I got up and put some CDs on the changer: a little Elvis, a little Kingston Trio (with Dave Guard, not the other guy), a little Everly Brothers, a little Drifters, a little Connie Francis. Eclectic, that's my middle name. I punched the "shuffle" button and sat back down. Connie Francis launched into "Everybody's Somebody's Fool," and my mind started working better almost immediately.

  There were lots of ifs involved in my thinking, but it seemed at least likely that there was some connection between the disappearance of Randall Kirbo and the death of Kelly Davis. Just what the connection was, I didn't know. But if they'd been seen together at a beach party, the possibility of a connection was strengthened. Too bad those two kids who'd seen them there had changed their stories.

  I looked at my notes. Patrick Mullen and Travis Bittner. Roommates at the University of North Texas. Patrick was from Texas City, only a few miles away from where I was sitting. Travis was from Wichita Falls. I could imagine Patrick suggesting that they go to Galveston for spring break. They could have mooched food at Patrick's house for free and spent most of their days and nights on the beach.

  I wondered if Patrick were home for Christmas vacation. If he was, I could stop by to see him on my way to talk to Chad Peavy, Randall's roomie, the one whom Tack Kirbo insisted was probably lying. And he might have been, especially if he'd had a visit from Henry J., as Gerald Barnes suspected Riley and Travis had.

  Let's say the girl died at the party. Say that Randall Kirbo knew what had happened to her. Say that drugs were involved, not hard to imagine if Big Al were tossed into the mix. If all that was true, or close to true, it wasn't hard to imagine Henry J. intimidating witnesses or even eliminating them.