Return of the Nomad

by Beatrix Banner

  Carter scoffed and that was it. I leapt out of the chair and was across the room in a couple of strides. I grabbed him by the collar and used my momentum to push him backwards, slamming him into the back wall. I let go of him and he collapsed forward, doubled over and winded. I slammed my hands down on his shoulders and grabbed him, then drew my knee up into his solar plexus, hard. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. For good measure, I rammed my heel into its favourite new place, his windpipe. “Remember this?” I asked. He nodded and tapped on my ankle.

  “Okay, okay,” he wheezed.

  “Still think I’m fucking around?”

  “No, I don’t think you’re fucking around. Jeez, catch a guy unawares…”

  “Yeah. That’s what it was.”

  I removed my foot from his throat. He sat up slowly and pushed himself backwards so he could prop up against the wall. I stood over him, eyebrows raised, an expectant look on my face.

  “We were on and off for the two years, but yeah, most of that time we were living together, at her apartment.”

  “And you were also dealing from her apartment that whole time?”

  “More or less.”

  “Specific answers, Carter. What were you selling?”

  “Weed, coke, MDMA.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “No, man, that was it.”

  I lowered my voice and my eyes narrowed. “Really? Nothing harder? Because that’s not what I’ve been told, and forgive me for being more inclined to trust literally anyone else over you.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay, sometimes I’d sell a little H, but only sometimes.”

  “Keep lying to me and I’ll put you through the window. Did you sell it to Pam?”

  That riled him up. Which probably meant the answer was yes. He leapt up from the floor and stood in front of me, glaring like a two-year-old during a temper tantrum. “Bitch, c’mon! You might not be one, but you’re with the cops, man, I ain’t gotta tell you no more!” He jumped forwards with his hands outstretched and shoved me, pushing me off balance and backwards. I managed to catch myself and landed on my back foot. I used the momentum again. Spinning around, I kicked him square in the chest. He flew back into the wall and his knees gave out as he slumped into a pile of bones on the floor. He gasped for air and I stared at him for a second. His lungs were taking a beating.

  “You think you can mess about with a murder investigation and I’m just gonna let you get away with it, you piece of shit?”

  Carter clambered to his feet like a baby giraffe and stumbled towards me. He threw a punch. I caught his fist easily in the palm of my hand and twisted, forcing his wrist to contort unnaturally and he yelled out in pain as he sank to his knees with the pressure. “When are you gonna learn, Carter? This can only end one way for you. Now tell me what I want to know.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know!”

  Done. I was done. I let go of his wrist, and in one smooth movement, I grabbed his head and directed it swiftly into my knee. He fell to the floor, out for the count, and I observed him, slightly disappointed. “Jackass.”

  Since I was there, I figured I could do some looking around and see if I could find anything in Carter’s dump of a place that would shine a little light on the situation. Just off the living room was the kitchen, and while I didn’t figure there would be any clues in there, I had worked up a bit of an appetite. I took a look inside the fridge and fixed myself a sandwich with some nondescript meat and cheese I found. For a down-and-out, he had a decently stocked fridge. I had to say I was surprised, but apparently cocaine gets you that continental cheese.

  Moving on from the kitchen with my snack, I found a dingy little bedroom. I stopped in the doorway and leaned on the frame as I assessed the room. I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed thoughtfully.

  A mattress on the floor that looked like it had seen better days. A pile of magazines I didn’t want to know about. A chest of drawers that looked like it might collapse at any second.

  I pushed off the door frame and went over to it, pulled out the top drawer and began to rummage through the contents. Underwear and some socks. I closed the drawer and pulled out the second. T-shirts. The third. Assorted pants, denim—a false bottom. I grinned, held the sandwich in my mouth and pulled the drawer clean out of the chest. I turned it around and dumped the contents out upside down on the bed. It took a little jimmying and a few bangs of my fist, but finally, the bottom fell out, followed by what looked like about ten grand. Drug money, I assumed.

  I pocketed the cash for services rendered: the excellent work I had done improving his face, and took the sandwich out of my mouth after another bite. I continued to scan the room. There didn’t appear to be a wardrobe, a bedside table, or any other places for things to be stashed. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he did know shit all. I heard a groan from the other room and checked my watch. Just after eight p.m. I had time for a couple more questions.

  I finished off my sandwich and walked back into the living room where sweet Carter was beginning to stir. I rolled him over with my boot and he raised his arm to shade his eyes from the light.

  “Sleep well?” I asked, watching the recognition that yes, this was still going on, spread across his stupid face. He groaned.

  “So, Carter, who’s this martial artist? He was one of Pam’s flings, you said. He have a name?”

  He didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes.

  I nudged him with my boot. “Aw, c’mon, let’s not do this again.”

  He groaned. “I don’t know his name. She met him when she was tryna get her shit together. Running, hiking, the gym. Some health kick. Went to some fitness place downtown. Flex-something. I dunno, I told your boy.”

  Well, that was a start. “All right. You ever meet this guy?”

  “I told you before, no.”

  “And I didn’t believe you, so I’m asking again. And I’ll keep asking. Did you ever meet him before?”

  He let out a growl of frustration. “Fine. Yes. Like, once or twice.”

  “Was this when you were together?”

  “No, well, right at the end, and just after.”

  “After you broke up? What caused the break up?”

  He pulled himself up slightly and leaned his head against the wall. “A bunch of stuff, it just wasn’t working, with the drugs, after the baby… Then she started trying to sort her shit out and just, like, left me, man.”

  “So are you telling me that after her baby died, she started trying to get her shit together? Yes or no?”

  “Yes. Mostly with that guy.”

  I crouched down next to him. “And what happened when you met him?”

  He paused for a second and we made eye contact. He continued. “Well, like I said, I didn’t trust him.” His face twisted and he half-laughed. “I didn’t trust either of them. So I followed her once and saw them having coffee. Man, I was jealous, I was pissed off, thought she was messin’ ’round on me. So I confronted him.”

  “Bet that went well.”

  He glared at me. “It didn’t.”

  I smirked and gestured between us. “Bet it kinda reminds you of this right now, huh?”

  “We done here?”

  I stood. “One more thing. This other dealer you mentioned.”

  “What about him?”

  “What do you think, moron? Name, location, description, how did Pam meet him?”

  “They met in some bar, from what she told me, some dive called Rico’s, or some shit. I never saw him, though, but I think he operated downtown. His name was Jesse or somethin’ like that.” He rolled onto his side, fetal like. “Can we be done now?”

  “Yeah, I think we can. For now at least.”

  He groaned.

  “See ya later, pal. Rest up.”

  Chapter Six

  I climbed back in the Ford, slammed the door and lit up a Red. I took a long drag as I fired up the engine and began the half hour journey back to Archie’s. It
was a decent drive with the windows down. It allowed me the time I needed to percolate the information I’d taken in over the last forty-eight hours or so. And whichever way I turned it around in my head, it didn’t make sense.

  Pam had been taking drugs and was in a relationship with a dealer who, if we’re to believe Jimmy’s recounting, was essentially feeding them to her. This guy was dealing out of her apartment, so she was probably getting to know some pretty shady people there. She got sick of the bum boyfriend and started going to different people for her stuff, scarier people. She was using when she miscarried her baby. She forced herself to get her act together and started looking after herself, exercising, eating right, changing who she spent her time with, but was murdered in her apartment. The big question was why, and why was it then staged to look like a break in. I was still no closer to finding out. Jesus Christ, Pam. A lot sure can change in no time at all.

  When I arrived back at Archie’s building, I felt like I had herded my sheep and most of the ducks were in a row. I realized I was starving as I climbed the stairs and arrived at the front door of his apartment. This was due to not only my little workout, but also the extremely welcome smell creeping out into the hallway. Motivated, I unlocked the door.

  “Hey, where you been?” he called from the kitchen. I pushed the front door closed and hung up my jacket.

  “Out. Something smells good,” I replied. I followed said smell into the kitchen where Archie stood in front of the stove, stirring a pot of something Italian. He was also wearing an apron. “Mix me a martini, would you, schweetheart?” I asked, in my best Humphrey Bogart, and smacked him on the ass on my way to the open bottle of Merlot on the counter. “That apron is divine.”

  “Bite me,” he replied. “This is almost done, you want a plate?”

  “I do.” I picked a glass out of the cabinet and took it over to the dining table. I sat down at the space he had laid for himself. I let Archie place the steaming plate of spaghetti bolognese in front of me and I observed the candles, the mood lighting, the wine and the fancy silverware. “Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Goodman?”

  Archie laughed and rolled his eyes, laying another table setting for himself. “Woman, I’m good to me, I didn’t know if you’d even be home,” he said as he sat down. He took a sip of red and casually asked, “So, where were you really?” as he dug in to the meal.

  “Thought I’d pay a visit to our dear friend Carter.”

  He stopped, fork halfway to his mouth, and stared. “You didn’t.”

  “I did. He finally answered a few more of my questions.”

  “And how many of his fingers did you have to break to make that happen?”

  “None. Just his nose, so, progress. Positive.”

  His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. “I didn’t hear that and we never had this conversation.” His eyes reopened. “What else did you get out of him, besides some shattered cartilage?”

  “Okay, I’ll give you the full report, but I wanna hear about the interrogation too, right?”

  He nodded affirmative. After filling my plate and beginning the process of devouring every last morsel of food on it, I went over the details of my chat with Carter. I began with the stalking of this martial artist guy and took it right through to the fact that Carter was, indeed, selling heroin. Archie’s eyebrow was residing high up on the side of his face by the time I was done.

  “Wow. Okay, well, that fills in a few blanks at least. So he did meet the Karate kid and the Karate kid kicked his ass...” He remarked, twirling spaghetti around his fork. He stopped and smirked. “He’s the bad kid...” He snapped his fingers as he searched for the name.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Archie, he’s Johnny Lawrence.”

  He grinned at me. He was easily amused.

  “Anyway, we know Carter and Pam were on and off, they were doing drugs together and then she found this other guy, Jesse, downtown.”

  “We’ve still got to figure out who he is, and where he falls on the food chain. Obviously he’s a dealer, but how high up? If she was going to him, maybe it was because he had a better price, or he could get it more easily.”

  “Maybe. I reckon he’ll be able to tell us a lot more than Carter could.”

  “Yeah, we may have tapped that well dry now. I think he’s all bark and no bite.”

  I nodded and shoveled a large forkful of food into my mouth. “Mm-hm. He’s a huge jackass, but I don’t think he did this. He’s stupid. And weak, and aggressive, but ultimately he’s all talk. I just don’t think he’s capable of it.”

  “Agreed. He wasn’t even able to keep track of whether or not he wanted us to believe he might have been the father.”

  I pointed my fork at him. “Exactly. I don’t think he’s entirely blameless here, but I don’t think he committed any forty-to-life crimes.” I took another bite and chewed on it for a moment, paired it with some red and fixed Archie with another look. “So. Fill me in on what you got out of him at the precinct.”

  “Well, like I said, there’s not that much more to tell. He really wasn’t any more cooperative than he was back at the house. But he did tell me where I can find this martial arts guy, or at least his last known address. I think you said he mentioned it to you, Fitness Flex, downtown.”

  I nodded. “‘Flex something’, yes, I remember.”

  “I called them up and they said I could come down and talk to the staff, see if we can figure out who’s who. They also sent me over a list of everyone they have on their payroll, so I’ve got some officers going over that at the moment.”

  “Sounds good. He say anything else interesting?”

  “Not particularly.” Archie sighed as he took a long sip from his wine glass and shook his head.

  “Figures. I honestly don’t think he knows anything else.”

  “I think you’re right. We should get the Medical Examiner’s report tomorrow, and I’m expecting some results back from forensics. I’ll have a conversation with the CSU guys once that’s in. Hopefully that’ll give us a couple more solid leads.”

  “When are you going to talk to Chuck Norris?”

  “Also tomorrow, ideally.”

  “Cool. I’m coming with you.”

  He sighed. “Only if you promise not to assault any more of my suspects.”

  “No promises. One more thing; you’re going to check out this other dealer, yes?”

  He nodded exaggeratedly. “For sure.”

  “I’ll come to that, too.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I was up at seven. I was ready to make some sense out of this madness. I got out of bed and joined Archie in the kitchen for breakfast. We wolfed down some made-from-scratch pancakes with syrup and berries and a couple cups of coffee before we left at around eight. When we got to his precinct, Archie made me watch traffic outside with my third cup of coffee while he had his pow-wow with McDaid. When he reappeared about twenty minutes later, I glared at him before ducking into the car. I let the caffeine seep into my system as we drove before I felt like talking.

  “Where are we going, driver?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes. “Downtown. I think I’m about ready to talk to Chuck Norris, real name Daniel Tanner. Thirty-five years old, 6’4”, built like a brick shithouse by all accounts. No criminal record beyond the occasional misdemeanour as a kid. Which kinda tracks with a lot of guys like his stories, you know. Rough upbringing, squared themselves away in the martial arts community. Kept their noses clean.”

  I bobbed my head from side to side, neither in agreement nor disagreement. “Sure. Sounds a little too Karate Kid to me, though.”

  Archie grinned. “I know, but I think we can forgive him that.”

  “Well, we don’t know that yet, what if that’s exactly what he wants us to do?”

  “Someone’s a little paranoid.” He laughed.

  “Not paranoid, just cautious. Also open to the fact that these are all people who were friends with a woman who clearly wasn’t
displaying the best judgement at the time. So I’m doing it for her. Better to be safe, and come across a little paranoid, than sorry.”

  “Fair enough. I guess we’ll see.”

  “I guess we will.” I thought for a second. “I wonder how he and Pam got involved? Especially at that particular moment in her life.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, did she meet him because she wanted to get clean and begin to put her life back together? Or did she want to get clean and put her life back together because she met him?”

  “Hmm. Good question. Looks like we’re about to find out,” he replied, pulling into a layby and parking.

  “We’re here?” I asked as I stared out the car window at the street, trying to figure out where we were. Downtown, obviously.

  “We are. The Dojo of Daniel Tanner.” He laughed. “Sounds like a mid-nineties, anti-pop concept album.” That was why we were friends.

  We climbed out of the car and I joined Archie on the sidewalk. We strolled by a couple of buildings until we were outside what was, ostensibly, a gym. It made sense. A large sign adorned the roof of the building that read: Fitness Flex. The facade of the place was almost entirely glass, including the large, double door entrance. From the sidewalk, you could see anyone either working out or walking by the enormous window. I guessed the same was true from the other side, too. I reasoned that Tanner’s dojo was probably in the back, and that perhaps there was a weird appeal to the idea of that kind of large-scale people watching as a distraction while on the treadmill. I preferred an actual run.

  Archie held the giant door open for me and I strolled in, taking in the features of the building’s decor. There was a large poster in the center of the lobby advertising the gym’s Flexible rates that will save your wallet the stretch! Daniel Tanner/Chuck Norris was doing well for himself. The place was not ugly, and seemed to have a decent amount of people milling around it. Archie walked up to the reception desk and asked the woman behind it, a tall, blonde drink of water who was definitely from out of town, if he could please speak with Mr. Daniel Tanner.