by John Locke
“It means, don’t fuck with him.”
She laughs.
“I’m serious, Emma.”
“Call me Jill.”
“Why?”
“It’s my real name.”
He nods. “Thanks for sharing that. From what I gather, you’ve had quite a week.”
“Can I be frank?”
“No. I’m Frank.”
“Funny. But yeah, you might say I’ve had a rough week. I’ve been drugged, bound, robbed, kidnapped, and attacked by four drunken gay deer hunters. I escaped, met you, and you drove me to Willow Lake, where I was physically attacked by a 300-pound redneck who was suddenly murdered five feet from me by a terrorist hired by the mob to blow me up. He did, in fact, blow up the entire neighborhood, but as you can see, I managed to escape.”
“And here you are.”
“Yes. So I think I can handle a bureaucrat like Donovan Creed, who talks like a cartoon character.”
“Creed’s no bureaucrat. And the cartoon voice is an imitation.”
“Of what?”
“It’s a quirk. Whenever he tries to imitate someone, or disguise his voice, it comes out like Sponge Bob.”
“You’re joking.”
“Like I say, it’s a quirk.”
“And I’m supposed to fear this man?”
“Beyond all others.”
She thinks a minute. “Is it your opinion he could take down Bobby Dee?”
“Without batting an eye.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
Jill grins, grabs her phone, presses the redial button.
“How’s Frank treating you?” Creed says.
“No complaints. But it dawns on me I never told you my second demand.”
“Then tell me something else I don’t already know.”
“My maiden name’s Jill Whittaker. But don’t waste your time writing that down.”
“Too late. Thanks, Jill.”
“My married name is DiPiese. I’m Bobby’s wife.”
“Holy shit!”
Jill smiles. “Thought you might like that.”
Frank doesn’t. His eyes have gone huge.
Creed says, “The folks at Willow Lake will be surprised. They thought Jack was your fiancée.”
“That was our cover story, so I could stay at his place.”
“What do I owe you for the information?”
“I want you to kill Bobby.”
“When?”
She laughs. “I love that. You said when, not why. We’re going to get along swimmingly, Donovan. Not that it matters, but are you good-looking?”
“Yeah, but not by choice. My face has been reconstructed.”
“You don’t strike me as a vain man.”
“I won’t strike you at all, if you behave.”
“How good do I have to be?”
“Don’t flirt. I’m spoken for.”
“Pity.”
“I’m still 30 minutes out, but I’ve called a sketch artist who should be there in a few minutes. I’d like you to start without me. That way we can get the terrorist’s face in front of the public within the hour.”
“That’s not going to happen. Frank and I will be gone by then.”
Creed pauses a moment, then says. “You really must be good in bed! I’m impressed. On the other hand, I’m deeply disappointed in Frank. Have a safe trip, Jill.”
“I must say, you’re being an awfully good sport about this.”
“I’m a realist. I’m only sorry you’ll miss the reunion.”
“Which reunion is that?”
“I found Jack Tallow. I thought you might want to see him.”
Jill closes her eyes. “If you found him this quickly he’s obviously dead.”
“Actually, he’s alive and in deep shit with the Baton Rouge police department.”
“You’ve clearly found the wrong Jack Tallow.”
“You think? Let’s review. The Jack Tallow I’ve found has no vocal cords and is sporting savage, near-fatal hog bites.”
“Thank God!” she says.
“You’re happy about the hog bites?”
“Yes, of course. It means he escaped. He said he would, and he did. Why’s he in trouble with the cops?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
9.
Donovan Creed.
WHEN WE LAND in Memphis I kiss Callie goodbye and keep Joe with me, so he can blow up Bobby Dee’s house in La Pierre, Louisiana, later tonight.
Before catching a cab I find a quiet spot and call Dr. Box’s cell phone.
No answer.
I call his apartment.
Bingo.
A young woman with a thick southern drawl says “Hi there! Who’s callin’?”
I can actually feel the smile in her voice. If I weren’t so pissed at Dr. Box, I’d smile back. “I’m Donovan Creed.”
“Well, hey there, Mr. Creed, I’m Trudy Lake. Pleased to meet you!”
It’s only a few words, but it takes her a long time to say them. I don’t mind. I love southern girls and the way they talk. Used to love them, I mean.
“Trudy Lake?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m going to take a wild guess you’re not from New York City.”
“Oh, Lord, no,” she says. “And if I knew the ball team here was called Yankees, I probably would’ve said no to livin’ here.”
I laugh. “Where are you from?”
“You know Ralston, Kentucky?”
“Nope.”
“Dead Horse Holler?”
“Nope.”
“Tate’s Crick?”
“Are you from any of those places?”
“No sir. I was just tryin’ to zero you in. Let’s just say I’m a western Kentucky girl, and leave it at that.”
“That’ll work. Are you the housekeeper?”
“I’m the girlfriend.”
“Dr. Box has a girlfriend? Or do I have the wrong number?”
“Hard to believe, but yeah, he’s got a girlfriend. And I’m her.”
“Is he there?”
“He sure is. Would you like to speak to him?”
“Not really. Not after talking to you. But I need to.”
“Hold on, I’ll get him.”
When Box gets on the phone he says, “I thought it went well with Kathleen last night, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I just started a relationship with Callie. I thought you knew that.”
“I did. But Kathleen wanted to see you, after all those years. She wanted you to meet Addie.”
“How is that any of your business?”
“I try to help where I can.”
“There’s a helluva lot more going on than you realize. With regard to me and Kathleen.”
“I only did it because I thought I was helping her.”
“Had I not just spoken to Trudy I would’ve bet money you set up the dinner date so you could make a play for Kathleen. You know, show her what a shit I really am, help her gain closure on our relationship. You’d be perfectly positioned to pick up the pieces afterward, have a chance to slide right into her life.”
He pauses. “That’s actually very astute. To be honest, that was my original plan, exactly. But days after setting up the dinner date with Kathleen I met Trudy. When we became a couple, I tried to cancel the dinner date, since there was nothing in it for me. But Kathleen put a big guilt trip on me about Addie. Said Addie had her heart set on meeting you, and it wasn’t right to take that opportunity away from her.”
“That sounds like Kathleen.”
“Later on, when I realized you and Callie were a couple, I called Kathleen to cancel. But she said if I didn’t go through with it she’d tell the hospital board what I did.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s a bit embarrassing.”
“Spit it out.”
He whispers, “After performing t
he surgical procedure that saved Addie’s life I asked Kathleen if she’d reward me with a blow job.”
“What?”
“I did the surgery for free. She was very grateful. She said she had no idea how she could ever repay me. So I suggested a blow job.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. Did he really just say that? And did he actually do that?
I put the phone back to my ear and say, “Whatever the reason, you could’ve royally fucked up my life. I had my phone on the whole time. Callie was listening from outside the restaurant.”
“Well, that was bad judgment on your part. You can’t blame me for that.”
“I thought I was being ambushed. She was my backup.”
“Oh, please. I wouldn’t know how to ambush anyone. Not to mention you paid me a hundred million dollars to perform Callie’s surgery. Why on earth would I want to cause you harm?”
“You obviously know nothing about my world, or the people who frequent it.”
“Thank God for that.”
We’re quiet till I say, “How old is Trudy Lake?”
“She’ll be 19 on Friday.”
“She sounds delightful. Is she half as good-looking as she sounds?”
“She’s the sixth most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“Why you?”
“Right place, right time. Lots of luck.”
“She sounds like a catch.”
“Trust me. She is.”
“It’d be a shame if anything ever happened to her.”
“A shame? It’d be a life tragedy! Wait. Are you saying—”
“Stay out of my personal life, Doc. I won’t tell you again.”
I hang up.
Joe and I catch a cab across the highway and knock on Jill’s hotel door. When Frank Sturgiss lets us in I give him a cold look to let him know what I think about his lack of loyalty. Then I introduce Joe and myself to Jill and the sketch artist and ask to see what he’s drawn.
“Nothing,” he says. “She refuses to talk.”
I look at Jill.
She says, “I’ll do the sketch when you kill Bobby.”
I tell her Joe and I plan to blow Bobby to hell shortly after midnight.
But that’s not good enough for her.
“He’s just a kid,” she says, looking at Joe. “Do you have any idea how powerful Bobby DiPiese is?”
“Bobby’s a pussy,” I say.
She looks at Frank, who says, “If Mr. Creed says the kid can kill Bobby, you can go ahead and order the headstone.”
I add, “Don’t forget I found Jack Tallow.”
“Finding him isn’t the same as rescuing him.”
“It won’t be easy getting him out of jail. He killed a guy.”
“Can they prove it?”
“I think so. He hung the dead body on the back of a tow truck and drove it through downtown Baton Rouge.”
She smiles. “Jack’s one of a kind. But if you’re planning to spring him from jail there’s something else you should know.”
“Tell me.”
“He killed some deer hunters near Jackson, Mississippi.”
“How many, specifically?”
“Four.”
“When?”
“Monday night.”
“It just gets better and better, doesn’t it?”
“The cops probably haven’t linked Jack to the deer hunters yet, but they will. So you’d better get your ass in gear if you want your sketch.”
“Excuse me?”
“Save Jack or kill Bobby. Your choice. Then you’ll get your sketch.”
I look at Frank. He clearly has a thing for Jill.
But he knows me.
And he’s worried.
As he should be.
He says, “Mr. Creed. Before you say or do anything, can I have a minute to talk to her?”
I wave him off while deciding if I should go ahead and beat the shit out of her and force her to do the sketch. It’s a tough call because although she’s delaying my investigation, I know her description will be more accurate if she’s cooperating. It’s hard to focus on features when you’re in pain.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I say. “Tell me the guy’s name, and I’ll take you to Baton Rouge to spring Jack. Then we’ll do the sketch.”
“How can I trust you?”
“You’ve got no choice. But I need to get Jack out of jail before they find out about the deer hunters.”
“I’ve told you my terms,” Jill says.
She’s a handful. She thinks she’s got the upper hand. But she doesn’t have shit.
I know it, Frank knows it.
“I won’t ask again,” I say.
Frank says, “Jill? Tell Mr. Creed what he wants to know. You have no idea how close you are to royally fucking up.”
She says, “Will you come with us to Baton Rouge?”
He says, “That’s up to Mr. Creed.”
I nod.
Jill says, “Fine. I’ll give you more than you’re asking for, to show good faith. The crop duster’s name was Mike. I don’t know his last name, but he ran drugs for Bobby. The terrorist’s name is Ryan Decker. Bobby hired Decker to blow up Jack’s lake house because he knew I was there. After I escaped, Decker decided to spare me, and told Bobby I died in the explosion. Happy?”
“No, but it’s a start.”
I thank the sketch artist for his time and escort him out. I’ll get someone in Baton Rouge to sketch Decker’s likeness after I spring Jack from the Baton Rouge jail.
10.
BATON ROUGE SHERIFF Emo Pike isn’t just heavy, he’s literally bursting at the seams. He motions me to sit. When I do, he says, “Jack Tallow.”
“That’s right.”
He coughs out one of those wheezing, fat guy laughs and says, “Jack claims he never knew there was half a man’s torso hanging from the back of the tow truck he was drivin’.”
“That’s good enough for me,” I say. “Go ahead and release him.”
He chuckles. “When the calls started hittin’ my office Jack was barrelin’ down the interstate at 70 miles an hour. You gotta picture this. The bottom half of a dead man’s body is swingin’ back and forth, blood and guts flyin’ everywhere, but damned if he don’t just keep comin’, all the way to Baton Rouge. But does he stop at the city limits? Hell no! He circles the whole damn city and winds up downtown. Take a guess what he does next.”
I actually don’t know. I thought that was the whole story. So I shrug.
Sheriff Pike says, “Jack drives a half-mile down the center of Government Street, sees an all-night gas station, makes a wide u-turn, pulls up to one of the gas pumps, and stops short. That causes the torso to swing around so hard it crashes into one of the pumps, where it does some minor damage, and somehow gets hopelessly hung up in the top half of the pump. This is the body Jack claims not to have noticed.”
Pike chuckles till tears form in the corners of his eyes. Then he says, “The guy workin’ the gas station’s Pakistani. Tahir Hesbani. It’s his first fuckin’ night on the job. Been in the USA exactly two days. All his life he’s heard how violent Americans are, but always thought that was propoganda.
“Tahir’s cousin got him a work visa, found him a job at the gas station. Tahir’s been workin’ the late shift by himself for all of eight minutes when Jack Tallow pulls into the station with a man’s bloody torso swingin’ from the back of a tow truck. You could’ve murdered Tahir’s whole family, he wouldn’t have screamed any louder. He hits the floor, starts to call 911, but hears someone tappin’ on the glass above him. It’s Jack, tryin’ to pay for his gas in advance. Tahir takes one look at Jack, who’s bleedin’ from head to toe from wild hog bites, and tells him to take whatever he can. Jack hisses at the guy and scares him half to death. See, he can’t talk because his vocal cords have been cut out. So he motions for a pen and paper. Tahir supplies it, and Jack writes that Tahir has to unlock the pump. Well, to do that, Tahir has to stand up. So
he does, and realizes he’s dumped four pounds of shit in his drawers! He unlocks the gas pump and watches Jack fill the truck. But he won’t call the cops ’cause he thinks everything that happens in America winds up on the Internet and he doesn’t want the whole world to know he shit his pants.”
“Makes sense,” I say.
“But Jack won’t leave. After fillin’ the tank he comes back to ask directions. Want to guess what he’s lookin’ for?”
“A doctor?”
“A veterinarian. To patch up his hog bites. Then he asks Tahir what nationality he is. When he says Pakistani, Jack asks, ‘Where can I find a rocket launcher?’”
He laughs. “Bear in mind, all these questions are bein’ written down on paper, which means they’re evidence! So Jack walks back to the truck, starts it up, puts it in gear, all while forgettin’ the dead body’s organs are hung up in the broken glass of one of the pumps. He winds up pullin’ the top half of the gas pump behind him, and of course, it’s scrapin’ the ground, makin’ a God-awful sound. Later, Jack insists he had no clue there was a body hangin’ from the tow truck! He drives about 20 yards before he’s surrounded by a dozen squad cars and Baton Rouge Swat. They put him face down on the street and ask what the fuck he’s doin’ with a body hangin’ from the hoist, and you know what he says?”
“Tell me.”
“He says the cops must have put it there while he was on the ground. You know, like they were plantin’ evidence, like it was some kind of fuckin’ dime bag!”
I say, “I believe him. Let him go.”
“Good one.”
“It’s not a joke. I’ve come here to get him. You’ll have to turn him over.”
“Like hell I will! We traced the truck to Bobby DiPiese. Ever heard of him?”
“I have.”
“We figure Jack is one of Bobby’s goons, though he claims he never heard of Bobby, and has no idea who was hangin’ from the truck.”
“I believe him,” I say. “Open his cell. I’ll take it from here.”
“You’re insane.”
“The guy’s a good Samaritan. A hero.”
“What?”
“He found the truck at night. Hurt as he was, he attempted to drive it all the way to your police station. He was even willing to fill the gas tank for the owner.”
“Uh huh. And the body?”
