by Linda Ladd
Patrick continued the intros. “This here is Phillip. He fries up the chicken.”
“Hello, officer.”
“Hello, Phillip. You’re quite the cook.”
“Thank you kindly.”
“And this here one is Phineas. We call him Phin ’cause he likes to fish. And that one’s number four, Petey.”
Petey just looked at her and grunted. Claire assumed he had no mentionable talents.
Okay, first off, it appeared that their mama had enjoyed a true love affair with the letter P. That was a given. Good thing the poor woman didn’t have any more sons. There weren’t all that many male P names left. At least, Claire couldn’t think of any. Except Pancho, maybe. Or Paco.
“I’m very sorry for your loss. It’s a terrible thing to lose a brother.”
“The Fitches did it.” That was Phin, speaking for all of them, no doubt.
“Mind if we push the tables together so that we can all sit down and talk about this in a civilized manner?”
The nodding of various heads gave her the go-ahead. Joe did the honors with a lot of scraping and heaving while everybody else watched. They all sat down and stared at each other. Claire got out her notepad and pen. “Okay, first thing, maybe you should tell me a little bit about all these accusations you were throwing around concerning the Fitch family. I take it that you’ve got a beef with those guys?”
“They is our mortal enemies,” said Percy aka best shot.
“And the reason for that is?”
“They just always has been,” said Phillip aka Colonel Sanders.
“Which one of you fellows would like to explain the genesis of this feud, if it is a feud.”
“They kilt one of my great-granddaddy’s cousins, and then they stole some of our hill pastures back in the thirties.”
“So it goes back a good long while.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They were awfully polite all of a sudden, which made Claire think maybe they were playing her until she drove off with Joe, none the wiser. Then they would go find and annihilate a serious amount of Fitches. She would have to put the FEAR OF THE LAW in them and make it stick.
“Tell me, boys, do you murder Fitches often? Or vice versa?”
Joe smothered another laugh, but not very well. Claire would never, ever bring him on an investigation with her again, no matter how helpful he could be. But the Parkers were smiling slightly, too, under their chicken-greasy mustaches.
Patrick seemed to take the helm then, so to speak. That was probably a good thing. He was the articulate one. “No, detective. We ain’t murderin’ them. Ever. Unless they murder us first.”
“I see.” And then I arrest you, each and every one, Claire thought. “You do know that all these threats are gonna come back and bite you, if even one Fitch reports any assaults.”
“We’re calm now. It was just a real hard thing to process.” There you go. Patrick was waxing articulate.
“Do you think everyone is calm enough now not to commit murder the minute my back is turned?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, now that’s settled. And you’re saying that Paulie’s wife, Blythe, did not call you and tell you what happened?”
“No, ma’am, but she wouldn’t. She hates us all. Says we’re cretins.”
Okay, now that was a woman getting it out in the open with no concern for hurt feelings. “So I assume that means that you guys don’t get along well with Blythe Parker.”
“No, we like her just fine. She’s real good to Paulie.”
Maybe they just didn’t know what the word cretins meant. Yes, that was entirely possible. Maybe they thought it meant sweet or talented or brainy people. “Do you have other relatives that we should notify?”
“No, ma’am. It’s just us boys now.”
“Are you fellas married?”
“No, ma’am.”
“None of you are married?”
“No. We all live together up at the old house place.”
Supersonic creepy? It did seem to be. “Where exactly is that?”
Patrick sort of swung his arm toward the secret enclosure and related to her some rather roundabout, confusing directions, but it didn’t sound far from where they now sat. “Okay, let’s just forget about the Fitches for a minute. Has anybody else ever made threats against Paulie? Or has he had an altercation with anyone that you know of? Perhaps his fellow fighters?”
“We don’t go down to town much to see him. He brings us videos of his fights and shows off his medals and trophy belts now and again.”
“Has he ever mentioned anybody that he didn’t like or that he had a problem with?”
“No, ma’am. He was the most popular of us all.”
“Popular in what way?”
“Well, people liked him the best.”
“Why?”
“Dunno.”
Man, this was not going well. She wondered if Patrick was now holed up inside his head, just waiting for her to leave, or if he and his band of brothers were merely mighty unpopular dudes on the hill farm circuit.
“Tell me about his relationship with his wife’s family.”
They all looked around at each other, and got all quiet again. Then Patrick said, real slow and careful-like, “We don’t know nothin’ ’bout her family.”
“Okay, so this was not a close family relationship then?”
“Are they all albinos like her?” That was Phin, definitely not the brightest bulb in the pack but no doubt hell to pay when catching bass and crappie.
“I can’t really say. Now, when was the last time you saw Paulie?”
“Last week, right ’fore he went up to KC. He came out here and spent the night with us up at the house.”
“Did he seem strange or act any differently while he was with you?”
“No, he was the same old crazy Paulie.”
“Crazy?”
“He liked to have fun, stuff like that.”
“Did he seem worried or nervous?”
“Nope.” Patrick looked at the others, all of whom had now settled down into near catatonic states. Initial adrenaline levels were washing out now, to be sure. Still, the collective lack of grief for their recently dead but fun-loving brother bothered Claire a bit. Go figure.
“Do you know a fighter by the name of Shorty Dunlop?”
“No.” They all concurred with a rather somnolent lack of human expression.
“Do you know of any reason why anybody would’ve helped him leave a hospital up in Kansas City before the doctors released him?”
Slow shaking of shaggy heads. “Did your brother bring that guy up here and hide him out at your place?”
Percy answered for everyone. “No way. We’d a seen ’im by now.”
After that obtuse response, Claire blew out a frustrated breath. She stared at Percy for a moment. Wow. Just wow. Then she asked, “What’s out back inside that enclosure?”
Patrick looked surprised at the question, which was why she asked it. “Just a junkyard with old cars, and stuff. Goes way far back on our property. They made us put up that fence ’cause they called it an eyesore. You wanna go out there and have a look-see around?”
Since he offered, she didn’t expect there was much to see. “Maybe one of these days. I’ll be around again. Not to worry.”
Claire hesitated. Their lack of emotion concerning Paulie’s death was puzzling and bothering her big-time. She didn’t want to appear rude. She already had, not to mention threatening to jail them if they didn’t settle down, which wasn’t exactly not rude. All right, when in doubt, don’t mince words. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t seem like any of you are very upset by your brother’s death.”
Petey took offense and instantly became verbose. “We just real bad upset. Enough to kill us some Fitches first off. But that’s done over with now. Once we stack our guns in the corner, we done over it. Done for the day.”
Man alive. These guys were not exactly dripping with
smarts. “Well, I hope so. That’s against the law, you know. Murdering your neighbors, and such as that.”
McKay was frowning now. He hadn’t been on many police calls out in the hills, obviously. But neither had she. But he was keeping his mouth shut and not laughing, which was a good thing and unusual for him.
“We ain’t gonna go out killin’ nobody. I promise. Cross my heart.”
Petey’s solemn oath was just so reassuring. Kind of. After all, he had crossed his heart, even made the sign with his forefinger.
“What do you guys do for a living?”
“I run this store, and they take care of the farm and the cattle. And we fight sometimes for the cash prizes.”
“You do all right here, I guess?”
“Yes, ma’am. We do really good.”
“What do the Fitches do for a living?”
“They get drunk and cause trouble and go to church like they ain’t as bad as us. Fight and stuff. That’s why nobody wants them around. They’re real bad, all of ’em. Not very popular, no.”
Sounded like everybody within fifty miles was highly unpopular. “Where do they live?”
“Their farm butts up close to ours. They try to rustle our cattle, but we keep a close watch and make sure the barbed wire fences are in good repair.”
Now Claire felt as if she had been thrown into an episode of Rawhide, that old Clint Eastwood television show where he looked down and scuffed the toe of his boot in the prairie dirt. All these guys needed were some cowboy hats, spurs, lassos, and a hangin’ tree. “Well, having rustlers in the neighborhood is always irksome.”
“Are you gonna investigate the Fitches? Then you’ll see. They got something to do with this, you’ll see.”
“I probably will give them a call, if it becomes warranted. I do have your word, right, that none of you will go out there and make accusations and stir up trouble, right?”
They all nodded and maintained similar serious expressions on their similar serious faces.
“You do understand that we are investigating this murder, and I do promise to keep you apprised of our progress.”
“How’d those Fitches kill him?” That was Phillip, now with tears filling his eyes.
Claire didn’t want to tell him. It came out reluctantly. “Let me remind you again that I have no proof linking the Fitches to your brother’s murder. But to answer your question, Paulie Parker was beaten to death.”
That caused the brothers to jerk looks at one another with lots of nodding heads and I-told-you-so expressions.
Patrick was still the major spokesman. “That pretty much wraps it up, now don’t it? They love beatin’ on people with baseball bats. Carry big clubs around everywhere.”
Well, that was truly interesting, and probably a good reason to visit some unpleasant Fitches. “Have any of you been attacked by them with a baseball bat?”
They all nodded in tandem.
“Does that indicate that you fight with them a lot?”
“Yes, ma’am. We been fightin’ with ’em since we was little bitty kids. Our pa and their pa used to make us fight each other.”
Now it was Claire’s turn to flinch. Okay, now they were getting somewhere. “Then I need to talk to your pa.”
“He’s dead, been gone for a long time now. Ma, even before that.”
“How old were you when they made you fight?”
“Five years old, sometimes six. They started us out early so we’d be real good by middle school.”
“This still going on around here?”
“Not at our place anymore. We ain’t got no kids amongst us.”
“What about the Fitch family?”
“Probably not. We heard their men put a stop to the fights. But they still is nuts, the whole lot of ’em.”
“That’s against the law, you know. Kids fighting each other.”
“We figured it was, but nobody ever came around to make ’em stop fightin’ us.”
“Well, spread the word. I’m around now, and I’m gonna stop it. Understand me, guys? That’s child abuse and there are laws against child abuse. If the Fitches are still doing it, I’m gonna arrest them.”
The Parker brothers all broke out in ecstatic smiles, happy as proverbial clams to hear such glad tidings.
“I guess that’s all I need right now. I may be back as the investigation proceeds. You might want to get in touch with Blythe Parker and find out about Paulie’s funeral arrangements.”
“Yeah, we wanna plant ’im up in our cemetery.”
Claire and McKay stood up. “You do have hunting licenses for all those weapons over there in the corner, right?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I sell ’em right here, and I get ’em for the boys every year.”
“Good. Well, thank you for your cooperation. I’ll be in touch.”
Claire gave Patrick her card, figuring he’d share it, if necessary, and she and McKay walked outside, relieved as all get out. “Well, you weren’t much help in there, Joe.”
“I never interfere in police business. I never take on four or five big guys at once either.”
“So I noticed.”
“Hey, I don’t have one of those shiny badges that lets me do whatever I want, like you do.” They got inside his truck, and he leaned on the steering wheel and looked over at her. “But, if any of them had laid a finger on you, my dear detective, I would’ve taken care of it.” He pulled back his jacket and let her see the .45 handgun stuck in his back waistband. “And yes, officer, I do have a conceal-carry license. Just so you know.”
“Well, that makes me feel a little better, sort of. In an after-the-fact kinda way.”
McKay nodded, and they headed back toward town. Claire sat silently as he concentrated on maneuvering the car around all the curves and icy patches on the hills and dales and wondered how everything fit together. She was picking up pieces of the puzzle right and left. Problem was, none of them were connected up into a nice clear 3-D picture of the perpetrator. Not yet, anyway. Well, maybe Bud had come up with a doozy of a lead in Kansas City. She hoped to hell that he had good news. She was still sitting on empty.
Blood Brothers
As it turned out, Punk moved into his maternal grandfather’s house, where he was treated like an absolute king. Or maybe more like a prince. Yeah, all he needed was a gold crown with big rubies and emeralds on it. As patriarch of the family, his grandfather was highly revered and therefore so was his grandson, whether he deserved it or not. And living within walking distance of his true love was just about everything he had ever dreamed of. He got to see her every day, and they would steal off and kiss and touch and whisper how much they loved each other. And they were very careful not to be found out. Grandfather considered what they were doing to be the great and terrible sin of all unholy sins, but it wasn’t. It was just the opposite. She was heaven-sent, just for him, and he knew it.
Despite himself, he did begin to miss Brother Bones after a while and wished he could see him sometimes. But that was out of the question, at least for now. Little Banjo had found her way through the fence and tracked Punk all the way to his new house, and Punk had been so glad to see her. He had been worried that nobody was taking care of her. Sometimes, he thought about his other brothers, too, but not as often as he wondered about Bones. Bones was his twin, after all. And he was curious about what happened to all the dead bodies and what his older brothers had said about their pa being dead and gone forever. They might like it, or maybe not. He wasn’t sure what they’d think. Bones probably put his corpses in the hog pen and let the sows eat them up. But Punk didn’t really care. With his true love nearby, he soon forgot all that stuff and finally didn’t really care about anything or anybody else. He had stopped his fighting, stopped getting so angry so quickly, stopped hunting, stopped worrying about his twin killing people. He didn’t care about anything but his girlfriend. So he set about learning her family’s ways and their strict religious rules and was getting ready to be baptized into h
is mother’s family, so he could be a true believer.
Even better, the two of them had found a really cool place where they could be all alone. She would steal like a phantom out of her upstairs bedroom and climb down the big rose trellis and find her way through the woods to the back acres that edged the neighbor’s farm and the river that led to the lake. He would pretend he was napping or studying his new religious books, and when Grandfather was asleep or counseling his flock, Punk would go out behind the big house and run through the woods until he found the little ramshackle cabin that they had made into their warm and cozy love nest. It was high on the hill near a big limestone cave that they liked to explore with flashlights and a picnic basket. Sometimes they made love inside the cavern depths in the cool, damp quiet, snuggling inside his sleeping bag together with her vanilla candle flickering on a low rocky ledge.
One day he found that she was already at the cabin waiting for him, and she threw open the door and then she was in his arms and he spun around with her, his heart thundering with desire. He took her down quickly to the soft blue blanket that she had spread out on the floor. They stripped off each other’s clothes as fast as they could and then lay tightly together, naked and turned on. He loved the pure white skin of her body, so pale against his own dark tan. Then they made sweet love, slowly and gently, and it was as good and fine as it always had been, even better, because it had been three whole days since they’d last met. He needed her so much, all the time. She was like the weed that his pa used to smoke in order to get high. She was Punk’s illegal drug and always would be.
Afterward, she snuggled in closer against him and kissed him on his chest. “Your grandfather told my papa that we can’t ever be together. I heard him. His word is law hereabouts. Papa will never let me marry you. What are we going to do? I want to marry you.”
“We’re just gonna run away, that’s what we’re gonna do. It’s time now. I can get me a job. I can find us a good place to live at. I can fight some more. I’m good at it, and stuff. I can win us lots of money in that cage. I got some brothers already doin’ it. Good money, too, real good.”
