Bubba and the Missing Woman

by Bevill, C. L.

  Brownie let a tear leak out of his eye as he captured an obviously reluctant Precious behind the Christmas tree and imparted a needy squeeze to the struggling canine.

  Miz Demetrice and Bubba watched the trio drive off in Fudge’s truck. Bubba shook his head; his mind was on other things completely. He spared his mother a glance. Miz Demetrice seemed tired.

  “Going out to look in the morning again,” she said. “Got the entire Pokerama group and their families coming. Also got the church, the police auxiliary, and the entire Loyal Order of the Moose.”

  Bubba nodded. “There’s a gal who lives next to Willodean. Her name is Kiki Rutkowski. She’s a college student and said she’d help search ifin you were to call her.”

  Miz Demetrice said, “Good. The more the better.”

  “Going to Dallas,” he said pithily.

  “Got people coming from two counties away and the entire high school band and- say, what?”

  “Willodean ain’t out there,” Bubba stated. “But there’s a fella who knows where she’s at.”

  Miz Demetrice stood still. “This fella is in Dallas?”

  “I reckon,” Bubba said, and the tone of his voice made his mother shudder.

  “What will you do, Bubba dear?”

  “I aim to persuade this man to tell me where Willodean is,” Bubba vowed. “One way or the other.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bubba Does Dallas

  Saturday, December 31st – Sunday, January 1st

  Bubba drove into Dallas city limits about nine p.m. The city was lit up, and he could see all of its twinkling beauty. The skyline sparkled against the night sky. Reunion Tower was the most recognizable with its ball top standing off to one side. It was a solitary Christmas ball glittering with lights alongside a sea of velvet blackness. The Bank of America Plaza Building was the next most outstanding with its impressive lines of green neon lights streaking down its edges. There were other standout buildings like the J.P. Chase with its keyhole shape at the top, the Trammel Crow Center with its pyramidal glass top, and Fountain Place with its glass green prism shape. He was also familiar with the older buildings with historical notes abounding, although they didn’t dominate the horizon: The Cathedral Santuario de Guadalupe, which was part of the first Catholic parish in Dallas County and the Old Red Courthouse, which was presently a museum that celebrated Downtown Dallas’s greatest historical events. In comparison, the nearby Texas School Book Repository was a pinpoint in history known primarily for being the vantage point of an unbalanced assassin.

  It was a stunning place to be certain, but Bubba wasn’t captivated. At the moment, Dallas was just a place to discover where Willodean Gray was to be found.

  Finding a cheap place to stay wasn’t hard. The first hotel didn’t care for dogs. The second hotel was less picky. Bubba could see why when he opened his room’s door with a rusting key that was older than he was. It was clean but beyond ratty. The brownish rug was tattered and repaired with uneven stitches of orange yarn. The tables had cigarette burns on the tops. The suppleness of the bed was similar to a very flat rock.

  Bubba looked around as Precious sniffed precariously. She finally settled her gaze fully upon him and tilted her head as if saying, “What in the wide world of sports are we doing in this dive?”

  Then the fireworks started.

  Really, there were fireworks. Bubba and Precious went outside and found that the languishing downtown hotel had a prime view of the New Year’s fireworks presented by the City of Dallas. Precious didn’t care for the noise and hid between Bubba’s legs with her paws over her ears and eyes.

  Gradually, it dawned on Bubba that it was New Year’s Eve.

  Other people wandered out into the streets to watch.

  “Hey,” a man said to Bubba. Bubba looked at the man. He was in his thirties and smelled strongly of tobacco. His brown eyes were friendly enough, and he looked at Precious curiously. “Nice Basset hound.”

  Precious grunted. She knew when she was being discussed, but the loudness of the exploding fireworks was making her nervous. She whined and hid her eyes again.

  “Thanks,” Bubba said.

  He watched the show from the street in front of the hotel. The locale provided an easy vista for the explosions as they burst forth from a setup near the Trinity River.

  “Looking for work?” the man said.

  “Looking for someone,” Bubba said curtly.

  “Oh?” the man glanced around. “Who’s that?”

  “Looking for a gal,” Bubba said.

  “My name’s Bam Bam,” the man said. “I kin…hook…you…up.” In between pauses the man’s hands moved in elaborate poses until they stopped in front of his chest and waited for Bubba’s response. The index and pinkie fingers of both hands were pointing inward as if saying that Bam Bam was indeed, the man.

  Bubba scrutinized Bam Bam. “Your mama a Flintstones fan?”

  “Hahaha,” Bam Bam said. “I know a girl who can rock your world. Her name is Gummi Worm. She’s phat.” There were more hand gestures. Bubba wondered if the man was signaling for a plane to land on a carrier, but there wasn’t a carrier within 300 miles of the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex.

  Bubba blinked as he comprehended the words. “Not that kind of gal.”

  Bam Bam nodded understandingly. “Then you want a gal.” More hand gestures ensued.

  A little uncertain, Bubba shrugged. “A specific gal.”

  “I know a little she-male who will make you squeal,” Bam Bam said confidently. “Just…like…that.” There were a few more expansive hand gestures.

  “I think we’re misunderstanding each other,” Bubba said. “This woman is missing. She’s got black hair and green eyes and a saucy mouth. She’s very important. I’m looking for her.”

  “Oh,” Bam Bam said solemnly. He reached into a pocket and produced a business card. He snapped it sharply as he presented it to Bubba. “My card, my man, if you change your mind. Hope you find yo homegirl.”

  Bubba took the card, and a fresh batch of fireworks started up. He looked at the card. It said, “Bam Bam Jones: entrepreneur”. Below the name was a cell phone number. He sighed and stuck the card in a pocket.

  Bam Bam deftly moved onto the next man standing alone on the sidewalk. “Yo,” he said cheerfully. “That’s a kicking shirt. You new in town?”

  Bubba herded Precious back inside before the dog lost her mind. The fireworks died away after thirty minutes, and Bubba lay on the bed. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep wondering where Willodean slept. However, the next thing he knew Precious scratched at the door, and light billowed in from a narrow window.

  Half staggering, Bubba let Precious out and followed her. He was still dressed in the clothing he’d worn the day before. She already had the know of the building and went down the stairs, past the front desk, to the main entrance without pause. A few seedy-looking individuals hung out in the decrepit lobby and studied Bubba calculatingly. “Hey, ya’ll,” he said.

  They stared at him.

  “Bad night, huh?” he added after their continued silence. He let Precious outside. She gleefully discovered the nearest patch of grass and made it her own. Bubba waited and thought about his plan.

  Now that he was in Dallas, he was at a loss. He had a copy of a letter and an envelope. He had a postmark with a date and a zip code. But he didn’t know who the stalker was, and he didn’t know how to find out.

  I went off half-cocked.

  Normally he would ask Willodean’s family. But her family was still in Pegram County looking for Willodean. He needed information. Then he remembered it was Sunday. Sunday, the first day of January of a brand new year. Willodean’s been missing for three whole days. Three days in the cold. Alone, frightened…

  Bubba got himself organized and showered. He made certain Precious ate some kibble. He took his truck and found a store that sold prepaid phones. Ostensibly, and despite what he’d said to Robert Daughtry, he was going to sprout a c
ell phone soonest. He paid for it and returned to the hotel to charge the thing. While it charged, he made himself a list on the hotel’s stationary.

  The top of the list read:

  1. Find Willodean

  Whereupon he put the pen down because he couldn’t think of anything else to add.

  Duh, Bubba told himself silently.

  Precious pawed at the brownish carpet. Something else brownish endeavored to evade her. She’d found an errant mouse and was trying to corral the poor creature. “You got any suggestions, Precious?” he asked in a calmer tone than he actually felt.

  Precious glanced at her master and woofed softly. She returned her attention to the mouse. The mouse squeaked and hauled ass for a hole in the wall.

  “Where do I get information?”

  The library. But the library’s closed until tomorrow. I could go to where she used to work, but I don’t know that. I could call her parents and ask them for information, but I don’t know that they would tell me anything, and do I really want to twist the knife in their guts?

  Bubba had a decidedly strong urge to throw a table against a wall, although it wasn’t the wall’s fault. And ain’t the table’s neither.

  The phone was half charged when Bubba ran out of patience and called his mother. Miz Demetrice’s cell phone immediately rolled over to voicemail. Another call to the Snoddy Mansion confirmed that his mother was out searching the area near where Willodean’s wrecked vehicle had been found. Bubba left his new cell phone number with Miz Adelia.

  Bubba felt worse than useless. He could be searching the bottomlands near Sturgis Creek. But somewhere, somehow, Bubba knew Willodean Gray wasn’t there. The certainty might have come from John Headrick’s horrified conviction about Willodean’s disappearance. The certainty might have come from the haunted expression of her father’s face and the cold realization of her mother’s. The certainty might have come from reading that wretched letter that Willodean had received.

  Or it might have been as simple as the fact that Willodean wouldn’t voluntarily vanish.

  Precious let the mouse go and came to brush her nose against Bubba’s leg. He absently petted her. She nudged his leg. He met her eyes because his head hung down as he sat in the rickety chair next to the wobbly table.

  The dog stared at him with her sad brown eyes. She seemed to say, “Why are you moping again? Do I have to do everything? I’ve got enough on my plate without having to do humans’ work, too. For love of Saint Bernard, just figure out who can help you right now. Lord have mercy. Doesn’t a dog do enough without having to play psychiatrist to her human?” There was a preeminent pause. “And give me a bleeping Milk-Bone while you’re at it.”

  A thought occurred to Bubba. He wasn’t the only one who wanted to help. There were others. The girl with the dreadlocks offered to help. She said something about the Internet, and even a technophobe like Bubba knew that the Internet had all kinds of information galore.

  It took him three minutes to remember Kiki’s last name. It took him another minute to get an actual operator to give him her number. On the fifth minute, he was speaking to her.

  “Dammit,” she said into the phone. “I got the worst mofo hangover in existence and I don’t like my phone ringing before- hey, it’s after twelve. I guess you’re saved because we had to get up anyway to go do valuable community service. Who is this anyway?”

  “Bubba Snoddy,” he said.

  “Bubba,” she said. “Okay. Bubba. Big fella. Looking for Willy. I haven’t seen her. And someone called us about searching, so we’re headed out to help search in a couple of hours. Is there any news?”

  “She’s still missing,” Bubba said.

  “Damn,” Kiki said.

  “You can help me,” Bubba went on quickly.

  “Okay, how?”

  “I need some information about her. Something happened to her in Dallas, and I don’t have access to a computer.”

  “Okay,” Kiki said again.

  He heard her moving around on the other end of the line.

  “I’m turning on my laptop. It’s gonna take a minute to boot, and then we’ll see what we can see.”

  Bubba waited. He really liked that Kiki wasn’t asking all kinds of questions that Bubba wouldn’t even know how to begin to answer. Like “Why aren’t the police doing this?” and “Why aren’t you searching for Willy yourself?” and “Why can’t you go use an Internet café?”

  Finally, Kiki said, “Okay. Browser’s up. Let’s go. Let me put her name in the search engine and see. It’s Willodean. Funky name.”

  There was an urge to beat his chest with his fists and yell, “Hurry the hell up,” but it was an unproductive feeling, and Bubba controlled himself.

  “39,000 results,” Kiki said. “Can we narrow that down?”

  Bubba figured that she wasn’t speaking to him and said nothing.

  “We’ll add Texas,” Kiki decided. “Oh, that’s better. Hey, she’s not on Facebook. Who’s not on Facebook? Got to get that girl into the 21st century.”

  “I’m not on Facebook,” Bubba said.

  “You, I understand,” Kiki laughed. “Do you know how to use a computer?”

  “I know how to turn one on,” Bubba said. “I use one at the garage all the time.”

  Many of the cars he worked on required a specialized software program to diagnose its ailments. It was usually a matter of plugging one end of a wire to the car and the other end to a portable unit. Whereupon the unit would tell him what computer component would need to be replaced or kicked.

  Thank God, the old, green Chevy is too primitive to need that. And hey, I used a computer in college. Several. There was the Dell that I dropped on the floor. The HP that got thrown across the room. And what was that one that I spilled beer on? Anyway…

  “Okay, there’s a Willodean Gray Realty in Houston. That’s not her. That lady looks like she’s ninety years old.” Kiki paused. Someone said something in the background. “Okay, forty years old. That’s one of my roommates talking in my other ear. He’s assisting.”

  “Willodean Gray graduated from Ferris High School in…1938,” Kiki muttered. “So not her.”

  Bubba shrugged impatiently.

  “And here we go,” Kiki said triumphantly. She was silent for a moment. The voice in the background said something sharp. “Yeah, I see that, Dougie.”

  “What is it?” Bubba couldn’t help himself.

  “A year ago, Dallas Police Department Patrol Officer Willodean Gray was assaulted by a man while she was on patrol.” Kiki’s voice trailed off. “She was hurt badly enough to have spent a week in a local hospital. Jesus.”

  Bubba’s voice was icy as he replied. “What was the man’s name?”

  “Hang on, the article is a little spacy,” Kiki said. “Yesterday they said something about Willy being stalked. You think this guy is the same guy that wrecked her car?”

  “Maybe.”

  “All right. His name is Howell Le Beau.”

  Bubba wrote the name under the single item of his list. He asked Kiki to spell it for him twice. “Can you get an address for this man, Le Beau?”

  “Find a person search engine,” Kiki said immediately. “You’re not going to kill him, are you? Would that make me an accessory? Dougie, you’re in pre-law, would that make me an accessory?”

  “I’m not going to kill him,” Bubba said before Dougie could say anything.

  “That’s good, even if he might deserve it.” Kiki fell silent for a moment. “Still reading here. Looks like he stalked her for months. She had a restraining order on him and everything. Well shit, he beat the holy hell out of her.” She fell silent for a moment. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She hit that nail on the head. Bubba didn’t want to think about anyone beating the holy hell out of Willodean Gray. She was petite, and although he’d seen she could handle herself, he could well imagine some taller, hulking man getting the best of her.

  Rage percolated up fr
om deep inside him. He could also well imagine wrapping his hands around the neck of a man he’d never met.

  “There’s another name here,” Kiki said rapidly. “Charles Park was the detective in charge of the case. There’s a quote from him about domestic violence.”

  “Domestic violence,” Bubba repeated doubtfully.

  “Looks like Willy had a very brief relationship with the man,” Kiki said defensively. She correctly perceived his disbelieving tone. “And that doesn’t make any difference. If she said no, then she said no. It shouldn’t make any difference to you either.”

  “It doesn’t,” Bubba said. “I just…don’t like to think of her hurt like that.”

  “That’s understandable,” Kiki responded mollifyingly. “This guy, Charles Park, is in the Assaults Unit, and his phone number is included in case any witnesses want to step forward.”

  “What happened to Howell Le Beau?” Bubba asked after he took down the name and phone number of the investigating officer. Is it possible the man who’d attacked Willodean was still in jail?

  “Hold on,” Kiki said. Bubba heard clicking as she typed on the laptop. “There are several articles about Howell Le Beau. Hmm.”

  Dougie said something in the background.

  “Yes, Dougie, I know that’s totally unfabulous. Peeps shouldn’t be able to make deals like that,” Kiki said. “This guy, Le Beau, made a deal with the prosecutor. He agreed to six months in, plus fines, plus all of Willy’s bills, and a shitload of therapy sessions.” Kiki blew out air noisily. “That sucks the big, fat purple wang.”

  “This man, this Howell Le Beau is out of prison now?” Bubba said slowly.

  Kiki sighed. “Looking at the dates, yes. He could have- what’s that, Dougie?” Dougie said something, and Kiki said to Bubba, “He could have been out of jail early for good behavior, too. The prisons are overcrowded, and they release people early who behave.”