Good Day In Hell

by J. D. Rhoades

  It didn’t work. Keller heard the slamming of a door at the far end of the hallway. He plunged into the darkness toward the sound.

  What do you mean, he’s not a policeman?” the girl said in Spanish. “Why is he in my mother’s house, then?”

  “He works for Manuel’s bail bondsman,” Sanchez said. He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb to take more weight off his knee. “Manuel missed his court date. If Senor Keller doesn’t bring him back, the bondsman loses the money.” Sanchez took a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped the sweat from his brow.

  “Hey, Mister Oscar,” the boy asked. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  Sanchez hesitated. “Some bad men shot me in it,” he said finally.

  The boy’s eyes widened in amazement. “Cool,” he said in English.

  There was only one door closed, the one at the end of the hall. Keller stopped short of it. He raised his right knee nearly to his chest, then shot it out parallel to the floor, pivoting on his left leg until his left heel pointed at the door. The heel of his boot smashed the door off its hinges with a shriek of rending wood. The door fell inwards, revealing a narrow bathroom. The window next to the toilet was raised. The room was empty. Keller heard a grunt as a body landed on the ground outside the window. He tried to reach the window, but stumbled on the ruins of the door. Keller cursed as he fell full length on top of the splintered wood. He could hear footsteps outside the window, growing fainter as his quarry got away.

  “Did it hurt?” the boy asked. “When the bad men shot you?”

  “I hope it did,” the girl said spitefully. She sat down on the stoop and crossed her arms on her knees.

  “You shouldn’t be so hateful,” Sanchez told her. “It will put lines on your face.” The girl gave him the finger.

  Sanchez heard the sound of running footsteps. He turned toward the sound in time to see Manuel Olivera come tearing around the corner of the house. Sanchez could see the whites of his eyes. He raised his hand as if to signal Olivera to a stop. Then he saw the knife in the other man’s hand.

  Keller heard the girl scream outside as he picked himself up off the ruined door. Then there was a sharp crack, like the report of a small pistol. He felt the blood drain from his face. Oscar, he thought. Oh, fuck. I shouldn’t have brought him. I shouldn’t have left him alone. He ran back down the hallway as fast as he could.

  When he got back outside, the girl was sobbing, crouched over a prone figure on the sidewalk. Keller saw the glint of a knife in the grass a few feet away. There was blood on the girl’s hands. There was blood on the face of the man on the ground. Keller looked him over, mentally comparing the face to the photograph in his file. It was Manuel Olivera.

  “I think he needs a doctor,” a voice said from behind Keller. He turned. Sanchez was standing there, propping himself against the house. He held up a dark piece of splintered wood. “And I need a new cane.”

  “You can buy one with your cut of the fee,” Keller said.

  Sanchez looked surprised. “My … cut?”

  “Why not?” Keller said. “You did the takedown.”

  “‘Ey!” the man on the ground said as he sat up. He held a hand to his face. Blood flowed from between his fingers. “That son of a bitch,” he said in heavily accented English. “He break my fucking nose!”

  Keller and Sanchez looked at each other. “You said he didn’t speak English,” Sanchez said.

  “Outdated information, I guess,” Keller replied. He opened the handcuffs with one hand. “On your feet, Manuel,” he said. “We’ll get you a doctor at the police station.”

  “I sue you, son of a bitch!” Manuel said as he staggered to his feet. “I sue your ass off!”

  “We’ll make an American out of you yet,” Keller said as he put the cuffs on.

  It was being alone in the car that Marie found hardest to get used to. In the city, the usual practice had been to pair up officers for patrols. There had at least been another presence in the car, another voice besides the ones on the radio, even if some of the conversations with her male colleagues had left her gritting her teeth. But the county sheriff didn’t have that kind of manpower, and they had a lot more ground to cover out in the county, so deputies rode alone.

  Not that that many people were talking to me by the time I left, she thought bitterly. Not only had she lost her partner, she had had the bad grace to testify to the truth: that Eddie Wesson’s death was due to his own bad judgment. After that, conversations stopped when she walked into the room. She was assigned desk work, since no one would agree to ride with her. After two months of that, she had applied for the job with the county. A large number of deputies had signed up for the National Guard to supplement their meager pay. When the Second Gulf War came, the local guard unit was among the first called up and the sheriff suddenly faced the prospect of nearly a dozen deputies being sent to Iraq to guard convoys instead of patrolling the highways and back roads of the county. The department couldn’t afford to be picky.

  “Thirty-five, County,” the radio crackled.

  Marie picked up the mike. “Go ahead, County.” “Proceed to the Citgo gas station at 4500 Thurlow Church Road. Possible 10-62.”

  It took Marie a second to recall the unusual code.

  Then she got it. “Say again, County?”

  The dispatcher’s voice remained as flat and unexcited as a computer’s. “Possible 10-62, 4500 Thurlow Church Road. Be advised, EMS and detectives en route.” Marie’s heart raced. 10-62. Homicide. She kept her voice steady as she replied, “10-4.” She hit the switch for the lights and siren and stepped on the gas.

  “I ain’t sure I like this, Laurel,” Roy said. His accent had thickened with his agitation. “We had a plan. We ought to stick to it.”

  They had driven the few miles through the country to the on-ramp for Interstate 95. They turned south and were quickly caught up in the flow of traffic. Roy turned the radio on low.

  “Relax, Roy,” Laurel said. “We just got started a little sooner than we planned. But we was about ready anyway. Besides, look at how much more walkin’ around money we got this way.” She fanned the wad of bills in her hand at him. She looked back at Stan in the backseat. “Thanks, Stan,” she grinned.

  Stan felt unreal, as if he were dreaming. The adrenaline shock was wearing off, and he was beginning to shake. “Uh, no problem,” he said.

  “Hey, kid,” Roy called back to him from the driver’s seat of the Mustang. “How come your old man had so much cash lying around?”

  “He wasn’t my old man,” Stan said automatically.

  Roy shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “He has … had … a system. If you paid cash, he’d give you a big discount on mechanical work. ‘Cause he didn’t have to claim it for taxes.”

  Laurel pulled her face into an exaggerated expression of disapproval and clucked her tongue. “People got no respect for the law these days.” She and Roy laughed. Then her face turned serious. “And he kept it at the station because he didn’t want your mama to know about it?”

  Stan nodded.

  “You didn’t tell your own mama?” Roy said. Laurel got that scary hard look again. “You know why, Roy,” she said. She looked back at Stan. “But you ain’t got to be afraid anymore,” she said.

  Stan didn’t know what to say to that. The fact was, he was more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. He felt as if he had just taken a running leap out the door of an airplane without checking to see if he had a parachute. They drove for a while in silence. After a few miles, they took the off-ramp for U.S. 74. They headed east.

  “Umm … where are we going?” Stan said.

  “Back to my place,” Roy answered. “I was just up to Fayetteville to pick up a few, ah, supplies from someone I know. We’ll stop by my house and get the rest of what we need, then head out tomorrow night.” They took a side road.

  “Head out where?” Stan asked.

  “Turn this song up, Roy,” Laurel interrupted
. “I like this one.” She didn’t wait, but reached over and turned the radio up full, drowning out Stan’s repeated question. The crunch of an electric guitar playing a chugging rhythm filled the car.

  Move in, Can’t you see she wants you

  She has you deep in her eyes

  You been wond’rin’ why she haunts you,

  Beauty in the devil’s disguise …

  Roy slowed the Mustang down. They were approaching a dirt road that came out of a break in the trees lining the side of the road. Roy pulled in, the car bumping over the rutted track as they passed through the line of trees.

  She can tell you all about it

  She sees it in the stars

  She’ll burn you if you try to put her down

  Oh well it’s been a good day in Hell,

  And tomorrow I’ll be glory bound…

  There was a white van parked back in a clearing a couple of hundred feet off the hard road. Roy pulled the Mustang up beside it. Laurel started singing along with the Eagles:

  In that big book of names I wanna go down in flames

  Seein’s how I’m goin down

  Oh well it’s been a good day in Hell,

  And tomorrow I’ll be glory bound …

  Roy killed the engine and the song died with it. “Come on, kid,” he said as he and Laurel got out. As Stan clambered out of the passenger side, he noticed the ignition lock broken off and dangling by its wires from the steering column. Roy patted the fender longingly. “Too bad,” he said. “I kinda like these.”

  “We been over that, Roy,” Laurel said. “Too flashy to keep for long. This one’s gonna be on someone’s hot sheet by now.”

  Roy sighed. “I know,” he said. “I’m just sayin’.” He opened the trunk. Stan looked inside. There were a number of long objects wrapped in blankets inside. Roy pulled one of the blankets aside slightly to reveal the black metal of a rifle beneath. His smile was very white in the gloom. “Military issue,” he said. “Can’t hardly get ‘em, even on the street.”

  Stan’s mouth was dry. “Then how—”

  “I know a guy at Fort Bragg,” he said. “Funny thing. Once they put the inventory on the computer, it got real easy for a guy who wanted to make some extra dough to make stuff disappear.” He pulled a rifle out of one of the blankets, cocked it expertly and raised it to his shoulder. He scanned the trees, looking through the sights, before pulling the trigger. There was the solid click of a dry-fire.

  “Bang,” Roy said softly. Laurel started singing softly to herself. “Tomorrow I’ll be glory booooouund …”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “He did what!?” Angela said.

  They were in her tiny office at the rear of the storefront that housed H & H Bail Bonds. She looked at Sanchez, who sat in the chair in front of the desk, his leg propped up in the other chair. “Oscar, have you lost your mind?” Sanchez looked away in embarrassment.

  “Take it easy,” Keller said. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his thumb hooked into the waistband of his jeans. “He did great.”

  “You can’t just go coldcocking people,” Angela said. “Even if they are jumpers.”

  “Well…” Keller said. “He, ah…he didn’t really have much choice.”

  Angela sat down. “What aren’t you telling me?” She looked from Sanchez’s face to Keller’s. Neither would meet her eyes. Finally Sanchez sighed. “Manuel Olivera had a knife. He pulled it on me.”

  “I see.” Her face was expressionless. She took a deep breath. “Oscar,” she said after a long moment. “Would you excuse us for a minute?”

  Sanchez crossed his arms across his chest. “No,” he said. “I am not a child. This is about me. You do not send me out of the room to discuss it.”

  Angela put her face in her hands. It was warm in the office and she had removed the gloves which she usually wore. The web of burn scars on the backs of her hands shone pale white in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the office.

  “Okay then,” she said finally as she put her hands down. She looked at Keller. “There wasn’t supposed to be any violence.” Her face was calm, her voice controlled, but there was no mistaking the accusation.

  Keller shrugged, holding his own temper in check. “There was nothing in his priors that said he’d go off like that. There wasn’t any way to know.”

  “He panic,” Sanchez said. “Sorry…he panicked.” “Okay,” Angela said. Her voice cracked slightly on the second syllable. She cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said in a firmer voice. “What’s done is done. But Oscar, that’s the last time. You don’t go out on takedowns anymore.”

  Sanchez stood up slowly. His face was dark with anger. “I decide that, Angela.” His accent had gotten thicker with his agitation and the name came out as An-he-la.

  Angela stood up and put her hands on the desk. “This is my business, Oscar,” she said. “I decide who works for me and how.”

  Sanchez gestured at Keller. “He puts himself in danger all the time,” he said. “And you care for him. I know you do.”

  “That’s different,” Angela snapped. “He … it’s just different.”

  “Si, I know,” Sanchez said. He hobbled to the door, wincing. Keller moved out of his way. “He is not a cripple,” Sanchez said as he walked out. After a few moments, they heard the bell on the front door jingle as he walked out into the street.

  Angela sat back down and folded her arms in front of her on the desk. She put her head down on them. Keller sat down in the seat Sanchez had just vacated. He waited silently. Finally, Angela looked up. “I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” she said.

  “Yeah,” Keller said.

  She looked at him. “Keller, you think just once you could lie to make me feel better?”

  “I doubt it. It wouldn’t work.”

  “Damn it, Jack, he’s a schoolteacher. He’s not a bounty hunter.”

  “He was a schoolteacher back in Colombia,” Keller said. “He’s been through a lot since then.”

  Angela laughed sharply. “That’s an understatement.”

  Then she sighed. “I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

  “Sounds like you guys are getting pretty close.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “That’s good. He’s a good man.” Something in his voice made Angela look up.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.” He stood up. “You need me to do anything else?”

  She stood up as well. “Come on, Jack,” she said. “Don’t dodge. This is me you’re talking to.”

  He shrugged. “There’s no point. We’ve both moved on.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “We have. That doesn’t mean there’s no point in us talking.” She smiled sadly. “We’ve done this conversation, Jack. It never would have worked between the two of us. But you’re still my best friend.” She walked over and slipped her arm around his waist. He put an arm around her shoulder. He squeezed gently, mindful of the bum scars on her back and shoulders that still pained her. “I know,” he said.

  She gave him a final squeeze and stepped away. For a moment it left an empty feeling at his side. “I’ll finish the paperwork on Olivera,” she said.

  “You still want to split the fee with Oscar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What split?”

  Keller considered. “Fifty-fifty. I found the guy, he did the takedown. Plus, he needs the money.”

  She smiled. “You’re a pretty good guy yourself, Keller.” She picked up a file off the counter and handed it to him. “I’ve got another one for you, anyway.”

  He flipped the file open. At the top was a picture of a young blonde woman. It was not a flattering picture; mug shots rarely were. The woman’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot under an unruly thatch of short blonde hair. Her prominent jaw was thrust defiantly forward toward the camera. He pulled the picture out and set it aside.

  “Laurel Marks,” Angela said. “Missed her court date two days ago.”

  Keller f
ound the release order, written on flimsy blue paper. He saw the amount of bail and whistled. “Seventy-five grand? What the hell’d she do?”

  “ADW,” Angela said. “She was working as a waitress at the Omelet House on Market Street. Went for one of her co-workers with a carving knife one morning.”

  “Not a morning person, I guess. Still, seventy-five K is a lot. She doesn’t have the kind of priors that would lead to that much bond.”

  “Not as an adult. But I talked to the magistrate. She’s got a pretty bad juvie record. The magistrates know her by sight, and so did Judge Banning. The magistrate was trying to get a message across.”

  “You’re playing in the big leagues now, kid,” Keller said.

  “Right. And when she drew Judge Banning for her arraignment…” She grimaced. “I don’t think Banning’s reduced a bond since he went on the bench.”

  Keller looked up. “What kind of record?” “Drugs, mostly. But some assaults. Little girl’s got a temper, it seems.”

  “Kids don’t usually learn that kind of anger on their own,” Keller said. “Any Social Services involved?”

  Angela nodded. “The magistrate said there was. He didn’t know any details.”

  “Well, not likely that Social Services is going to give us anything. Any family in the area?”

  “Both parents are local.”

  “They the ones who put up the cash?”

  Angela shook her head. “No. Some guy. Said he was a friend of hers.”

  Keller arched an eyebrow. “Huh. Must’ve been some friend to put up ten percent of seventy-five grand.” He flipped the file open again and read the name on the bail bond application. “Roy Randle.”

  “Yeah,” Angela said. “Older guy, maybe early forties.”

  Keller frowned. “You think maybe he’s pimping her?”

  “I doubt it,” Angela said. “Not many pimps would shell out seventy-five hundred to get a girl out of jail.”

  “Unless he was trying to keep her quiet.” Keller’s frown deepened. “This one’s got a weird vibe to it.”